


The Witch of Wiltshire

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Marriage, Graphic Description, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Ron Weasley Bashing, Sexual Violence, The Maid of Brakel, The Mourning Madam's Once Upon A Time Dramione Fairy Tale Fest, Threats of Violence, Unhappy Ending, Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Nobody in Hermione's village knows she and her parents are magical.They live a quiet life until she meets one Draco Malfoy, and unwittingly invokes a jealousy in Ron Weasley that will set off a dire chain of events.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt for this fest was The Maid of Braekel, by the Brothers Grimm.
> 
> https://fairytalez.com/the-maid-of-brakel/
> 
> Initially I wasn't sure how to proceed. Then I envisioned in my head a final scene that inspired this story. It got darker and darker as I progressed!
> 
> As the tags imply, this story deals with dark themes and scenes that may be triggering for some readers.
> 
> A heads up - the conclusion is about as far from HEA as you can get. There will be no riding off into the sunset for my characters. 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful PotionChemist for Beta'ing this behemoth - without your keen eye and your support, this work would be lacking!  
Any remaining errors are my own.

Hermione made her way down the main road of the village quickly, accompanied by her parents. It was a fine spring day, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought of being forced to spend most of the morning in church when she could be doing better things, like exploring the countryside and collecting specimens.

Since she had been a small girl, Hermione held a curiosity about the world around her. Being of logical, analytical mind, she had often asked  _ why _ things were a certain way and how things worked, exasperating her parents to no end. 

Her questioning nature also occasionally landed her in trouble. She had been eight when she interrupted the minister at his sermon.

He was telling the story of how Jesus had performed the miracle of turning a few loaves of bread and small fish into enough food to feed several thousand people.

“But how can food be multiplied this way?” she asked. “If I have two apples and wish for a bushel, will I receive one because I have given thanks?”

The already silent church had, if it were possible, become even more quiet and all the parishioners turned to stare at her while her parents looked at their feet in embarrassment.

The minister cleared his throat awkwardly and frowned. 

“Well,  _ no _ , young Miss Granger. The miracle occurred because it was Jesus who performed it, and he was the son of God.”

“But  _ why _ would God only grant the miracle to his son?” she persisted. “Surely if it is so important to feed many, God would grant this miracle to all who needed it, instead of just one man.”

“God only allows those who are worthy to perform miracles,” the minister sighed, visibly annoyed at having his sermon questioned.

“Are not all people worthy?” Hermione challenged. “If only certain people are worthy to perform miracles that may benefit many, it disadvantages those most in need. Does not God love all his people equally?”

“Do not question the word of God!” The minister had thundered, losing his temper. “His work and His will is absolute! We may not always understand His will, but we must not question it if we wish to Him to reach out His loving hand to us!”

Hermione had cringed under his rage, and her parents shushed her. After the sermon concluded, her parents insisted she apologise to the minister and promise not to question him in such a manner again.

At home, she had struggled to make sense of the incident. 

“But mother, you have always told me that if I don’t know the answer to something, I should ask questions until I understand!” she cried.

Jane Granger looked at her husband and sighed. 

“I have, darling. But there are some questions that are better left unasked - or, at the very least, asked with discretion and in private.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Hermione exclaimed, weeping with frustration.

“Hermione, religion is... Well—” her father, Richard, had paused, trying to think of a way to explain. “—It’s something that people are very protective of. It’s true that most of the things discussed in the bible and in religion can’t be adequately explained and there is no reason or logic to them. But people don’t question them, because they have faith. They don’t need an explanation, because they choose to believe.”

“Well, faith is stupid!” she snorted, wiping her eyes.

“You’re entitled to your beliefs,” Jean replied. “But Hermione—” she lifted her daughter’s chin and looked into her eyes. “The people in this village are entitled to theirs. Although you may not agree, you must try not to argue with them about it. People can be ugly when subjects such as religion are challenged, and you will only open yourself up to grief if you do.”

“Yes, Mother. I understand.” Hermione sighed.

That had been the end of the matter, and she had never spoken in church again.

Now, just before her seventeenth birthday, Hermione had long come to the conclusion that the Christian religion was a load of rubbish. Ever since she discovered, at the age of eleven, that she was a witch, her whole world changed.

Her family lived on a small farm on the outskirts of the village, about twenty minutes by cart from the main square. Hermione had never before questioned why they lived further away than most of the other residents, and only found out the real reason when she woke on the morning of her birthday to find a small stick by her bedside.

Curious, she picked it up and felt the most amazing surge pass through her body. Her shock had been so great that she had dropped the stick and scooted back on her bed until she hit the headboard. Moments later her parents came rushing in to wish her a happy birthday.

“What just happened?” she gasped, trembling.

“The wand has chosen you,” her mother smiled. “We knew it would. It was your grandmother’s, and you are so like her.”

“...wand…?” Hermione stuttered. “Are you making fun?”

Her father sat on the edge of her bed, regarding her seriously. 

“Hermione, you are a witch. Your mother is a witch. I am a wizard. We come from a long line of magical folk.”

Hermione laughed. “Now I  _ know _ you’re fooling. Magic isn’t real.”

“Isn’t it? How do you explain the funny things that would happen around you sometimes when you had a particularly strong emotion or wish?”

Hermione frowned and thought back to the incidents she remembered, such as a bowl flying across the room when she didn’t want to eat her beans, or a jar of sweet shortbread she couldn’t quite reach suddenly toppling off the shelf.

“Magic  _ is _ real, and you can perform it. It’s the real reason we live on the outskirts of the village,” her father explained. “muggles - non-magical folk - fear and distrust magic, and it is dangerous for people like us to be outed as being able to perform it.”

Hermione nodded. “So — you mean, all those stories about people being tried and executed as witches and about being tied to the devil are true? They were really witches?”

“Some of them,” her mother sighed. “But most were Muggles and falsely accused. I can assure you, however, we are not tied to the devil. He is no more real than the God Muggles believe in.”

Over the following weeks and months, Hermione’s parents taught her how to control and funnel her magic through her wand, as well as basic spells and potion making. Now, she was a skilled and powerful witch, and her parents could not have been prouder.

“Good morning, Hermione.”

She was pulled from her reverie by a voice beside her. They had arrived at the doors of the church, where the other villagers were milling about and greeting one another before filing inside. Turning, she suppressed a shudder and smiled politely at the speaker.

“Good morning, Ronald. I trust you are well?”

Ronald Weasley was the second youngest child of a large family. He lived with his parents and siblings in a ramshackle house on the opposite side of the village. Ron had harboured an interest in Hermione — which she did not reciprocate in the least — for quite some time. 

While he was not unattractive despite his shock of red hair — a trait his whole family shared — he was quick to anger and had a sharp-tongued, sometimes cruel nature. He had a tendency to hold grudges against those who he felt had slighted him or his family in some way. In addition, he was not very clever. 

All in all, Hermione found him quite off-putting and tried to avoid him as much as possible without seeming impolite.

“What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” Ron asked, moving closer to her. 

Hermione fought the urge to step backwards. “Um… we have some chores to complete at home,” she fumbled.

“On the sabbath? Surely no chores are  _ that _ urgent,” Ron smiled indulgently at her. “I thought perhaps you and I could take a stroll through the village.” 

“Regretfully, the chores are rather urgent,” Hermione’s father interrupted, resignedly. “We need to check the roof and windows for weak spots before the rains come.”

“Oh. That  _ does _ sound rather urgent.” Ron looked crestfallen for a moment, before brightening again. “Let me come by and help you, save the ladies having to put themselves at risk of harm. Us lads can do the dirty work. Perhaps they can catch up on some baking instead?” He smiled disarmingly.

Hermione bristled at Ron’s comment. How dare he! Women were more than capable of carrying out manual labour and were no more at risk than men, and she resented the implication that she and her mother would be happier in the kitchen.

“Thank you, Ronald, that’s very kind. But I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you in such a way, especially not on the sabbath. We’ll manage just fine.” Richard answered.

“If you’re sure…” Ron answered doubtfully.

“We’ll be sure to keep you in mind if we could use a pair of hands in the future,” Jean smiled. “Now, if you’ll please excuse us, I think it’s time we found our seats. The minister is beckoning us in.”

Hermione and her parents joined the throng of worshipers as they filed into the church. Joining another family in a pew, Hermione sat down with a small sigh, already counting down the minutes until she could escape the monotonous droning of the minister’s Sunday sermon.

Later, as they were travelling home in the cart with Richard at the reins of their work horse, Mordred, Hermione was finally able to vent about Ron. 

“Ugh. He’s so… traditional!” she exclaimed in disgust. “He’s the type of man who thinks women’s only jobs are to cook, clean and breed! I do  _ not _ want any man like him for a husband! I’m more than capable of turning my hand to any task, even if I have to do it the Muggle way!”

“I know, darling,” Jean soothed. “We would never make you wed a man you didn’t like, you know that.”

“I do know, and I thank you both,” Hermione sighed. “I would rather remain a spinster than marry someone like Ronald Weasley.” She curled her lip in disdain.

“”Besides,” chuckled Richard from the driver’s seat, “if your mother and I did not seek your agreement before negotiating with potential suitors, I imagine you would hex us both.”

“Too right I would!” Hermione agreed with a giggle.

They were just arriving at their yard when they spotted a figure approaching from a distance.

“Who is that?” asked Richard.

“I’m not sure, but judging from their clothing, they’re wealthy,” observed Jean. “Although I wonder why they’re on foot. There isn’t anybody else in that direction for miles.”

“We’d best wait and see,” Richard decided. “But be careful. We can’t be sure they don’t mean us harm.”

“You’re far too suspicious, Richard,” Jean clucked. “Always so wary of strangers.”

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” quipped Richard with a self-depreciating grin, as they climbed down from the cart.

While they were talking, the figure had drawn close enough for the Grangers to finally identify him.

“It looks like the lad from the family who lives beyond the tree plantation. The ones living in the large manor,” Richard observed. “What was their name again?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione remembered. She had seen the family only a handful of times. They rarely ventured into the village themselves, sending servants to do their shopping and handle most of their affairs. 

They did not as a rule attend church services but, to keep the minister happy, they sent regular generous donations  _ in absentia _ . It was rumoured he lived a very comfortable life thanks to the Malfoy family’s contributions, though the village poor didn’t seem to benefit much from the additional funds.

Hermione recalled that on the few occasions she had seen them, they had displayed an aloof and imposing presence. The patriarch, Lucius, was coldly handsome and never seemed to be without his cane, which featured a serpent’s head as its grip. His wife, Narcissa, was beautiful but serious, and she seemed to wear a slightly haughty expression. Their son, Draco, appeared snobby and spoiled, often looking around with his pointy face slightly pinched, as if an offensive odour lingered just under his nose and he could not escape it.

As the figure grew closer still, Hermione could see it was indeed Draco Malfoy who approached them. He was near enough now that she noticed he was red in the face and his normally impeccably styled blond hair was in disarray, as if he had been walking at a brisk pace for quite some time and was fatigued.

“Hello there, lad. What brings you out so far on foot?” Richard called jovially. The family stood in a small huddle, watching Draco’s approach.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Draco stopped just beyond the yard entrance. “I’m afraid our coach has snapped an axle, out to the west of the plantation. My driver fell from the high seat when it snapped and appears to have broken his arm. I was very much hoping you would be able to assist us to repair the axle and splint the driver’s arm, but—” he glanced over at Hermione and Jean and frowned. “It seems you are alone out here.”

“Well, I’m sure between the two of us, we can manage it, depending on how serious the axle break is.” Richard nodded. “I have plenty of tools and our pony is very strong.”

Hermione watched in interest as Draco’s already red face darkened in hue, embarrassed. “Well, the thing is, sir… I actually don’t know how to repair an axle, or any part of a coach. We have servants who do those sorts of things.”

She couldn’t help but snort in amusement. Of course the upper classes wouldn’t know what a day of hard work looked like or how to do anything useful.

“Hermione! Hush!” Her mother admonished quietly, though she had to turn away from the men to hide the twitch of her own lips. 

“Well, I can assess it if you like, and we can always give you a ride home in our cart,” Richard suggested, indicating their transport. “I know it’s not much, but it’s sturdy and comfortable enough; I’m sure it would be preferable to walking all the way home.” He paused, considering. “Are your parents with you?”

“No, they are at the manor,” Draco replied. “They wished to sit in the rose garden and watch the butterflies.”

“A rose garden?” echoed Jean. 

At the same time Hermione blurted, “You have butterflies?”

Draco looked over at the women, amused. “Yes, and yes. My mother is a keen gardener and her roses are her pride and joy. At this time of year, all the buds are opening, and a number of different butterflies converge.”

“How many breeds of butterflies frequent your mother’s garden?” Hermione asked with interest.

“I don’t know,” Draco replied vaguely, shrugging. “Aren’t they all more or less the same?”

“They most certainly are  _ not _ !” Hermione replied indignantly.

“Master Malfoy, you look utterly parched,” Jean interrupted. “Won’t you come inside to catch your breath and have some water?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Draco agreed.

“Hermione.” Jean turned to her daughter with a pointed expression. “Won’t you take Mr Malfoy inside and fetch him a drink?”

  
  


“Yes, Mother,” Hermione sighed. Turning to Draco, she gestured toward the house. “Come on in.”

Opening the front door, she stepped across the threshold with Draco close behind. Indicating the small scrubbed table in the middle of the main room, she said, “Take a seat.” 

She watched Draco’s careful, neutral expression as he appraised the small space and the worn wooden benches that served as table seating.

“It’s not fancy or large, but it’s home,” Hermione added, a touch defensively. 

“Your home is… lovely,” Draco managed. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She suspected he was being insincere, but he  _ was  _ a guest, so she had to mind her manners.Turning to the kitchen area, she opened the small door to reveal the cooler box attached to the outside of the house which held water, milk and butter. Retrieving the pitcher, she fetched a glass from the cupboard, filled it, and placed it before Draco.

“Thank you,” he sighed gratefully, drinking deeply. Placing the empty glass down on the table, he said, “Your mother seemed quite interested in my mother’s roses. Is she a gardener also?” 

“Mother adores roses.” Hermione nodded. “But she’s never had much luck growing them here. For some reason, they just don’t seem to thrive, no matter what she does.”

“That’s unfortunate.” This time, Draco actually seemed to be regretful.

“Master Malfoy!” 

The two looked up as Richard poked his head around the door. “I’ve got my tools loaded in the cart, and your driver will want that arm seen to. We’d best get going or we’ll lose daylight.”

Draco nodded and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mr—?” pausing, he added, “I apologise. I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Granger. Richard Granger. And this lovely young lady—” he indicated his daughter, who blushed. “—is my daughter, Hermione.”

“Hermione.” Draco repeated her name, looking at her intently. “Well, thank you for the water, Hermione. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “Goodbye.” She wasn’t sure she liked him much. After all, he seemed like just another upper class snob. More money than sense and no idea of what life was really like outside of his comfortable, padded bubble. She watched him leave and wondered why she felt a sudden pang.

* * *

Richard Granger returned at dusk as Jean and Hermione were preparing the evening meal. 

“How did it go, dear?” Jean asked her husband.

“Well, that axle’s well and truly broken,” Richard replied, moving over to the corner to wash up. Pouring water from the jug into a bowl, he splashed his face and scrubbed his hands before drying off with a small towel. 

“It snapped clean in half. When I questioned the driver, he said they had been going at quite a speed. ‘Testing the horses’, he called it.” Richard snorted and added, “The driver is lucky he got away with just a broken arm. It could have been a broken neck.”

“But why were they going so fast in that area?” Jean frowned. “The roads around the plantation are rutted and curved. It would be a terrible place to be running the animals.”

“The driver wouldn’t say. I suspect the Malfoy boy ordered him to do it.” Richard looked annoyed. “Not only did he play with the lives of himself and the driver, but he could have injured the horses.”

“What do you expect, Father? People like him rarely have any idea about how to go about things properly,” Hermione sniped as she set the table.

“That may be true, Hermione, but it’s not polite to say so,” Richard chided gently with a smile. 

“So did you take the boy home? How is the driver faring?” Jean questioned. 

“Yes, I took him and the driver back to the manor,” Richard answered. “The driver’s arm broke cleanly. He’s in pain, of course, but as long as it is set properly, I think it will heal just fine.”

“Well,  _ that’s _ good news, at least,” Jean said, placing the serving dishes in the middle of the table. “Now, let’s sit down and eat.”


	2. Chapter 2

One week later, there was a knock at the door. Hermione stood from the table, where she had been mending a bridle that had begun to fray at the crown piece, to answer it.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise to see none other than Draco Malfoy on her doorstep, holding a small wooden crate in his hands.

“Good afternoon, Hermione. I hope you’re well?” he inquired. His eyes stared keenly into hers, and she felt a strange sensation in her stomach.

“I am, thank you, Mr Malfoy. What can I do for you?”

“Please, call me Draco,” he implored. “I wanted to return and thank you and your parents properly for helping me and my driver last week. Are your mother and father home?”

“Father is out in the rear paddock, but Mother is in the garden. I’ll fetch her,” Hermione replied, feeling slightly bemused. She looked over his shoulder before raising an eyebrow. “Did you come by coach?” 

“Not today,” Draco chuckled, having the good grace to look embarrassed. “I rode my horse, Grindelwald.”

“You can take him to our stables if you like,” Hermione invited. “I can show you the way — just bring him through the yard.” 

Stepping out on the threshold, she led the way outside and waited for Draco to bring the horse, admiring the animal as it was led. Grindelwald was a beautiful chestnut stallion. He followed Draco placidly through the yard.

“He’s very handsome,” Hermione complimented. “May I pat him?” 

“Certainly,” Draco smiled. Turning to the horse, he said, “Grindelwald, say hello to Hermione.”

Grindelwald  _ pluuured _ softly and stretched his neck forward as Hermione reached for him, allowing her to stroke his soft muzzle. He pushed his nose into her neck and sniffed, making her giggle.

“He likes you,” observed Draco.

“I like him just as well,” Hermione laughed. “Come on, Grindelwald. You can rest in our stables. I may even be able to procure an apple for you.”

The horse’s ears perked up in interest and he followed her as she began to move toward the outbuildings. 

“Uh oh. You’ve done it now,” Draco warned.

“Whatever do you mean?” Hermione asked, looking back at the blond man quizzically. 

“You said the  _ A  _ word,” Draco stage whispered.

“What, apple?”

“Shhh! He’ll never leave here if you keep saying it!”

“Oh, I see,” Hermione winked. “So your horse is a fan of A-P-P-L-E-S, I take it?”

“A huge fan,” Draco grinned. “I’m quite sure he would eat them all day, if the opportunity arose.”

“And then he would spend the rest of the time emptying his bowels,” Hermione laughed.

“Precisely,” nodded Draco. “In fact, the exact thing happened on one memorable occasion, when he managed to escape his stall and get into the far orchard. Let’s just say, the trees received ample fertiliser that day.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione sighed as she opened the half-door leading to the animal stalls. “Poor Grindelwald.” She turned to pat the horse’s neck as he followed her over the threshold.

“Poor Grindelwald?” Draco snorted as he followed them in. “Poor stable hand, more like it. He was the one who had to shovel up the mess. Picture a wheelbarrow  _ filled -  _ and I do mean  _ filled - _ with horse shit.” His face scrunched up in disgust at the memory. 

“One would think you had never seen animal shit before,” Hermione smirked, opening up a door to a stall and guiding the horse in. “It’s a part of life. If you think that’s bad, you should be present when a pregnant animal gives birth. Blood and fluids everywhere, plus the birth itself. Do you know how wide the entrance of a birthing female can stretch? It’s fascinating.” 

Draco looked positively revolted. “I don’t believe I would care to see such a spectacle at any time in my life,” he groaned.

Latching the door, Hermione turned to Draco with a slight frown. “Not even when your wife bears your children?” she asked.

“I am currently unwed, but when I do make a match and get her with child, I believe I will leave the delivery in the capable hands of the doctor,” he replied, somewhat defensively.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue before abruptly shutting it again, remembering her parent’s cautions against arguing with strangers and people she didn’t know well. Instead, she reached into a basket hanging on a post and retrieved an apple. Grindelwald gave a soft whinny when he spied it and stretched his neck forward.

“As promised,” Hermione smiled, handing the piece of fruit to the waiting animal. Grindelwald chomped enthusiastically, and after giving him a final pat, she led Draco back out of the stalls and into the sunshine.

As they were making their way back to the yard, Draco still carrying the box under his arm, Jean emerged from around the side of the house with an armful of vegetables.

“I thought I heard you out here, Hermione… Oh! Hello, Mr Malfoy.” Jean greeted Draco cordially. “What brings you here this fine afternoon?”

“I wanted to thank you all properly for assisting me last week,” Draco explained. “I brought some bulbs from my mother’s rose bushes and her fertiliser recipe. She swears by it for her roses.” He held out the box he had been carrying.

“Rose bulbs?” Jean echoed, perplexed.

“Err, yes. Hermione told me you have been attempting to cultivate them, but they don’t seem to take,” Draco explained, awkwardly. “My mother has her own secret recipe, which I convinced her to share with the woman who rescued her only son.” He gave an embarrassed grin.

Jean looked from Draco to her daughter and back again, her expression slightly guarded. “Well, how very thoughtful. Come along into the house.”

Hermione and Draco followed Jean as she led the way into the main part of the house. Setting the vegetables down on the counter, she picked up a piece of wood from the woodbox and opened the door to the potbelly stove, placing it in the embers. She gave it a quick prod with the poker before closing the door and taking up the kettle, which she handed to Hermione.

“Can you fetch some water please, dear?” she asked.

Hermione did as she was bid, making her way to the pump and wondering if her mother might be offended by Draco’s offer. She hoped this wasn’t the case. Jean’s failure to cultivate any roses had been a sore spot with her and she didn’t really like to address it.

Hermione’s fears were assuaged when she returned to see her mother examining the contents of the box and smiling.

“This is just too kind, Mr Malfoy,” Jean said as she read from the piece of paper bearing the fertiliser recipe. “We have most of these ingredients and I can fetch some extra fish from the market on our next trip.”

As Hermione crossed the room to place the kettle on the stovetop, her mother turned to her excitedly. “Richer blood and bone meal mixed with the soil,” Jean exclaimed. “Turn the soil thrice before planting and applying the fertiliser, then only water lightly once every three days. Plant in an area which catches the morning and afternoon sun but is protected from the midday heat. I know the perfect place!” 

Hermione smiled at her mother’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure they will be successful,” she replied.

Just then, the door opened and Richard stepped in, banging his boots on the door jamb. He looked up to see Draco sitting at the table and eyed him carefully.

“Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy. What can we do for you today? No more broken axles, I hope?”

Draco blushed once again. “No, Mr Granger, I can assure you once was enough. I came by to thank you all properly for helping me.” 

“Look, Richard! He has brought me rose bulbs from his mother’s garden and a fertiliser recipe! I’m certain these ones will bloom!” Jean interjected.

Richard smiled at his wife’s excitement before turning his scrutiny on Draco, who stood.

Reaching into his pocket, Draco withdrew his money purse. “I’d like to pay you for your time,” he said awkwardly. “It took several hours and I’m sure it delayed other tasks you had intended to work on.”

“We don’t need money,” Richard replied bluntly, holding up his hand. “We may not be wealthy, but we’re certainly better off than other folks in the district. We get by just fine.”

“Still, I’d like to show my gratitude,” Draco insisted, the money in his hand.

Hermione watched, feeling torn. On the one hand, she sympathised with her father’s wounded pride but, on the other hand, she wanted to warn Draco not to push Richard when his mind was made up or insult him further by arguing. Still, it wasn’t her place to step in, so she had no choice but to watch silently alongside her mother.

“You can’t buy thanks with money,” Richard emphasised, giving Draco a hard look. “A real man shows gratitude with his actions, not with coin.”

The kettle whistled, making Hermione jump. She quickly removed it from the hob and busied herself adding tea to the hot water, swirling the kettle gently to help it steep and listening carefully to the conversation behind her.

“Is there any other way I can thank you?” Draco tried again.

After a lull, Richard replied, “As a matter of fact, there is a way.”

Hermione turned to look at her father in surprise.

“Name it, and it’s done,” Draco answered firmly.

“It’s time to plow and re-seed the north field,” Richard stated. “I usually hire a farm hand to help with the physical labour, but if your intent is true, I’m sure you would not be averse to turning your hand to the task instead.”

Draco’s face dropped momentarily at the mention of hard labour, and Hermione was willing to bet the man had never worked a day in his life. She was sure he’d done nothing more physical than lifting packages from his carriage, assuming his family didn’t have someone to do that also — which, she considered in retrospect — they probably did.

Hermione glanced at her mother, who was watching just as raptly, before turning her gaze back to Draco. She was sure he would back down from the challenge but, to her surprise, he did not. Briefly glancing her way, he steeled his expression into one of determination and nodded.

“Very well, Mr Granger. I would be pleased to help you.”

“Good,” Richard smiled. “I’ll need you here at daybreak each morning for the next three days.”

Draco gulped, but extended his hand to Hermione’s father nonetheless. “Then it’s settled. I shall see you on the morrow.”

Richard took Draco’s proffered hand and squeezed it firmly. “Get a good night’s sleep tonight. It will be hard work.”

“I will, sir.” Draco turned to the women. “It was wonderful to see you both again. If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll take my leave.” With a small bow to the Granger family, Draco exited the room and Hermione found herself wishing he had lingered a little longer.

After he had left, Hermione and Jean turned to Richard in curiosity.

“Just what are you up to, my dear?” Asked Jean with a chuckle. “Are you trying to lame that poor boy? I’m sure he has never even seen a plow, let alone used one.”

Richard laughed, a little meanly. “I don’t know what he’s playing at, coming here and waving money at me like he undoubtedly does for all other matters. Money can’t fix everything, and the lad could stand to learn that.”

“Father, don’t you think asking him to start off on such taxing work is a little… excessive?” Hermione tried. “I’m sure he wasn’t trying to offend you. He was simply trying to show gratitude the only way he knows how.”

“Don’t worry,” her father shrugged. “He probably won’t make it even half a day.”

“Is that a wager?” Hermione challenged.

“Maybe it is,” Richard grinned, a gleam in his eye.

Jean huffed in exasperation. “Honestly, you two are the limit! He’s a man, not a dray horse to be bid on!”

“But we’re not  _ bidding,  _ dear, we’re wagering.” 

“Gambling! It’s no better!” Jean threw up her hands while trying not to laugh. “Isn’t that a sin?”

“Oh, blow to sins,” Hermione grumbled. “Just for that, I  _ am _ taking that wager.” She turned to her father. “I think he’ll last at least until the end of the second day. What are your terms?”

“Loser mucks out the stables for the next week,” Richard suggested, after a moment’s consideration.

“Done,” she agreed, and they shook on it.

“I must say, Hermione,” he added with a wry grin, “I think you vastly overestimate that boy.”

“I think you  _ underestimate _ him,” she shot back immediately.

Jean simply shook her head and picked up the teapot, which had grown cold and neglected, and placed it back on the hob to re-heat. “I think both of you will be wrong. And no, I’m not willing to add my own wager. You two can go and be fools on your own,” she sniffed as she sat at the table.   
  


* * *

The following morning, Hermione rose just before daybreak, wanting to see if Draco actually turned up. Richard had risen already and was in the barn with the lantern, preparing the equipment he would need. Hermione performed her ablutions, lit the potbelly stove with a wandless spell and set the kettle on the hob. She watched through the window, yawning, as the sky began to lighten. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see her mother descending the steps leading to the loft.

“Has he arrived?” Jean asked as she stifled a yawn.

“Not yet,” Hermione answered. 

The two women continued to watch until the kettle whistled. Once the water was hot enough, Jean began preparing tea while Hermione made porridge to break their fast.

Soon, Richard returned from readying the plow and washed before sitting at the table. “Feeling lucky, Hermione?” he teased, winking at his daughter.

“Incredibly so,” Hermione replied smartly, placing a bowl of steaming porridge in front of him and setting the milk and sugar in the centre of the table.

The Grangers were midway through their meal when they heard hoofbeats approaching. Moments later, Draco’s voice floated across the yard as he talked to his horse. Richard stood to open the door. “Good morrow, Mr Malfoy. You may take your horse to the stables. I trust you remember where they are?” 

“Good morrow, Mr Granger. Yes, thank you. I’ll be with you directly.”

“At least the boy is on time,” Richard remarked, glancing out the window at the pale dawn.

Several minutes passed before a knock at the door signaled Draco’s return. “Come in, Mr Malfoy,” Jean called from her place at the table.

Draco pushed the latch and entered, and Hermione stifled a snort at the blond man’s attire for the day. He was dressed in trousers, vest and coat, with heeled shoes on his feet. She glanced over at her father to see him smirking behind his hand. 

“Do you mean to work in that attire, Mr Malfoy?” Jean asked curiously.

“Well, yes,” Draco glanced down at himself, then looked up, uncertain. “Is it not alright?”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine, lad,” Richard said cheerfully. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his father. He was going to let Draco attempt to work in that ridiculous clothing, knowing full well that he would be sweating profusely and have blisters the size of tomatoes before the day was out, making him quite unable to continue. She could not allow her chance at winning the wager to be thwarted!

Standing, she smiled at Draco and said, “Father is just teasing you. I’m afraid your choice of clothing is not at all suitable for plowing, but I’m sure I can find something more fitting for you to wear. If you’ll excuse me.”

Quickly, she moved to the back of the room where Richard stored his old work clothes that he only wore on occasion and sorted through them. Retrieving a shirt, trousers and boots, she appraised their size. Her father was a tall man, muscular from a life of physical work and had broad feet, whereas Draco was slightly shorter and of a much slimmer build with narrow feet. 

Shaking her head slightly, she checked over her shoulder to ensure Draco was not observing her. Hermione pulled her wand surreptitiously from her apron, casting a quick spell to adjust the size of the garments and boots so they would better fit his frame.

She handed the items to Draco, placing them in his arms. “You’ll find these much better for working in. You can use my sleeping chambers to change your clothes, just over there.” She pointed to the door which led to her small bedroom off the main living area.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Draco nodded gratefully and gave her a warm smile which set her stomach to fluttering as it had the previous day.

She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks and turned away quickly as he made his way toward her room, murmuring, “You’re quite welcome.” 

Glancing at her parents, she blushed even further to see her mother appraising her carefully, and then tried to suppress a smirk of her own at her father’s expression. Richard looked quite put out that Hermione had intervened and prevented him from securing an easy win, but he couldn’t voice his displeasure while the subject of the wager was present.

Soon enough, Draco reemerged, adjusting the clothing Hermione had given him. The laces on the boots were not yet tied and flopped about as he walked. “These are very comfortable clothes,” Draco remarked. “Much more so than my usual attire.” He sat on the bench and began to fumble with the laces, making a terrible mess of it. 

Hermione _tsked_ and knelt before him, slapping his hands away. “Honestly! Did no one ever show you how to tie a bootlace?” she sniped. Working deftly, she tied them and tucked the ends away so they wouldn’t come loose.

“Perhaps you can teach me some time?” he asked quietly, causing her to blush yet again.

“If you can’t figure out how to tie a bootlace on your own, there’s no hope for you,” Richard interjected impatiently. “If you’re ready, we’ll make our way to the field. I have everything prepared.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied, standing quickly and following Richard to the door. Turning, he gave a small wave to Hermione and Jean before exiting.

Jean waited until they could hear the sound of the cart leaving the yard before turning to her daughter. “I think young Mr Malfoy fancies you,” she stated boldly. “And—” she nodded pointedly at Hermione’s shocked expression, “—It would appear you quite fancy him, too.”

“I  _ don’t _ !” Hermione insisted.

“I think you do,” Jean retorted, eyeing Hermione shrewdly.

“Ridiculous!” Hermione huffed. “I couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who can’t even tie his own bootlaces!”

Both women eyed each other then burst out laughing. 

“Oh, that poor boy,” Jean sighed, wiping her eyes. “Richard is going to run him ragged, especially since you spoiled his fun with the clothing. I don’t fancy your chances of winning that wager, darling.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish I could be more confident that I have a chance, but you may be right. Still, I’ll not forfeit!”

“I would be disappointed if you did,” Jean smiled.

At midday, Hermione packed bread and cheese in a basket and covered it with a cloth, then picked up a bladder filled with water. Making her way to the barn, she saddled her horse, Newt, and tied the bladder to the saddle before mounting one-handed, the basket clutched in her other hand. Kicking Newt’s sides lightly, she headed toward the back field at a brisk trot.

She slowed a short way from her destination and watched her father and Draco as they worked. Draco was behind the plow, guiding the tool as it was pulled by Mordred, while Richard strolled along behind with a pitchfork to break the clods of dirt. 

Draco was red-faced and perspiring, and his hair flopped every which way, but he also looked determined. Smiling to herself, Hermione kicked Newt’s flanks once more and urged him forward.

Richard looked up as she approached and waved. “Hello, Hermione! Is that lunch?” Turning to Draco, he called out, “Mr Malfoy! Come and sit a spell, break bread with me.”

Draco looked up gratefully and wiped his forehead on his sleeve then pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Walking wearily over to the boundary fence, he sat down on a tree stump. “Thank you. I’m famished!” he announced.

“Hard work will do that to you,” Richard commented, taking the basket from Hermione and removing the cloth as she dismounted and retrieved the water bladder.

She passed the bladder to Draco, who drank thirstily then passed it to Richard. Hermione watched as Richard took bread and cheese for himself then offered the basket to Draco, who eagerly followed suit. 

“Um… should we give thanks?” Draco asked carefully, eyeing his meal.

“Only to the person who brought the food,” Richard replied. “We don’t stand on ceremony here, lad.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Draco said immediately. “It looks delicious.” 

“You’re welcome. It’s home-made. Our cow produces the best milk for miles around!” Hermione boasted, smiling.

“She really does,” Richard nodded before taking a big bite.

Hermione waited until the men had finished eating, and then she packed away the basket and bladder before mounting Newt once more, Bidding them farewell, she left them to continue the work.

When she arrived home, Hermione chuckled to herself to see Jean puttering about in the yard, ostensibly checking the pump, the gate and the lanterns but really waiting for Hermione’s return.

“So… how are things going out there?” Jean asked casually, as she took the empty basket from her daughter.

“Oh, wonderfully!” Hermione replied excitedly. “Draco is pulling the plow and father cannot keep up!”

“Really?” Jean asked incredulously, eyes wide, as she glanced toward the rear field. Hearing laughter, she narrowed her eyes at Hermione. “Don’t make fun!” she chided, although a hint of a smile played about her lips. “How is he  _ really _ doing?”

“Quite well,” Hermione replied thoughtfully. “He was guiding the plow and doing a fair job of it. He looks worn out, but he’s keeping up admirably all the same.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Jean smiled. “I do hope he continues.” 

“Does this mean you back my wager?” Hermione teased.

Jean tried to maintain a stern expression but could not. “Yes,” she admitted. “But don’t you  _ dare _ tell your father!”

Hermione and Jean shared a conspiratorial grin and returned to the house.

* * *

Later that evening, as the sun was beginning to set, the men returned. Hermione and Jean headed out to greet them and help with unhitching Mordred from the cart. Draco looked ready to fall asleep right there on the seat. He climbed down wearily but still had a kind smile for the Granger family.

“Come and wash at the pump, Mr Malfoy,” Richard advised, and Draco joined him in scrubbing his hands and face under the water with vigour.

“Will you stay for supper, Mr Malfoy?” Jean invited.

“That’s very kind, Mrs Granger, but I must decline,” Draco apologised, shaking water out of his hair. “I fear if I stay I may fall asleep at the table.”

“Let me fetch your horse,” Hermione offered. She took Mordred by the reins and clicked softly at him to follow as she headed toward the barn. Once the work horse had been rubbed down and was in his stall with his nose in a bag of oats, she saddled Grindelwald, leading him out of the barn and into the yard. 

“Thank you,” Draco sighed gratefully as she handed him the reins. 

“Can I expect to see you on the morrow, Mr Malfoy?” Richard asked as Draco climbed slowly into the saddle.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be here,” Draco confirmed.

“Good,” Richard paused, as if thinking, then added casually, “You did a fine job today, Mr Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Draco nodded. “Goodnight, all.”

“Goodnight,” the Grangers chorused as Draco departed. They watched until he was down the lane, then turned to go inside. 

At the door, Richard halted. “I hear a horse approaching”.

“Could it be the Malfoy boy returning?” Wondered Jean.

Hermione listened then shook her head. “No. They’re coming from the opposite direction.”

The family moved back into the yard to await the approaching stranger. “It’s Ronald Weasley,” Jean murmured. “What business could he possibly have at this hour?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Richard said quietly as the redheaded man approached the gate.

“Good evening!” Ron called, cheerily.

“Good evening, Mr Weasley. What can we do for you?” Richard asked, stepping in front of Hermione and Jean.

“I remembered this is the time of year you usually start plowing and noticed you haven’t been into town yet to hire a boy,” Ron replied, glancing over at Hermione. “I thought to offer my services.” He gave a lopsided grin, as if the idea had not long occurred to him.

Her father shook his head regretfully. “That’s very generous of you, Mr Weasley, but I already have help for this year’s plowing.” 

“Oh, is that so?” His grin remained, but the sparkle left his eyes and was replaced with a hooded expression. “Do I know the lad?”

“Most likely not. He’s from the plantation further on.”

“Well, if you do need extra assistance, I’m more than happy to provide it,” Ron tried.

“I’ll be sure to keep you and your kind offer in mind, Mr Weasley,” Richard dismissed. “Is there anything further I can help you with?”

“No... no. Thank you for your time. Goodnight.” Ron raised his hand in a short wave before wheeling his horse around and quickly taking his leave. Once he was out of sight, the sound of him urging the animal into a furious gallop drifted back toward them.

“That was… odd,” Jean observed, concern in her voice.   
  


“It was,” Richard agreed. “It would pay for us to be cautious around Mr Weasley, I think. He seemed quite displeased at having his offer declined.”

“The way he glanced at me.. Ugh,” Hermione shuddered. “I don’t think I could stand to have him around the homestead for any longer than a few moments.”

“And he won’t be,” Richard reassured her as he led the women inside. “I would sooner do the work myself.”

“You won’t need to,” Hermione stated confidently. “I’m certain Draco will see out the entire task. The only thing you’ll be doing yourself, Father, is mucking out the stables.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.He did well today, I’ll admit, but he will be sore all over come the morning and I think he’ll beg off.” Turning to his daughter, he added, “That was a dirty trick, giving him my old clothes like that.”

“No dirtier than feeding him falsehoods about the suitability of the clothes he arrived in,” Hermione bit back, good naturedly.

Richard simply grunted and sat down. “What’s for supper?” he asked, changing the subject.


	3. Chapter 3

Early the next morning, to Hermione’s triumph and Richard’s chagrin, Draco arrived on Grindelwald.

Hermione went out to meet him. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she accompanied him to the barn.

“I didn’t know the body could  _ hurt _ this much,” he grumbled. “I ache all over. Even my  _ ears _ are bruised.”

“And yet, you returned,” Hermione observed, amused yet impressed.

“Well, yes. I wasn’t about to reinforce your father’s poor opinion of me,” Draco admitted. “He believes I won’t see out the three days. He didn’t say so directly, but I can tell. I intend to prove him wrong and attempt to earn his respect.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue that her father’s opinion of Draco wasn’t  _ that _ poor, but thought better of it. “You’re right that he has his doubts,” she agreed. “But he was truly impressed with how you fared yesterday.” 

She unlatched the barn door and stepped through, Draco following.Once he had secured Grindelwald away in a stall, they made their way back to the homestead. 

Unable to hold back her curiosity, she stopped and turned to Draco. “Why did you agree to join him in plowing in the first place? And why are you so determined to see out the full task? Is his respect that important to you?”

Draco looked down at his feet, kicking at the dirt. “Well…” he fell silent, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes..?” Hermione prompted. She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t tell her!

“I… was hoping if I earned his respect, I might also earn yours,” he confessed. “And, if I could achieve that, I was quite hoping you might eventually agree to let me court you, and your father would give his blessing.”

Hermione gaped at his frank admission. Her heart beat against her ribcage as the revelation that Draco really  _ did _ fancy her dawned.. And did she  _ actually  _ fancy him in return?

“I… don’t know what to say,” she stuttered.

“Well, I would be very happy if you would say you will allow me to court you,” Draco offered hopefully. “But please, don’t feel you must give me an answer yet.”

“Yes.” The word was out of her mouth before she realised she had spoken.

“Pardon?” 

“Yes. I would be happy for you to court me,” Hermione replied. A thought occurred to her. “My parents would likely not object, but what about yours? With your…” she gestured, trying to find the right words. “With your… status, how would your parents respond to the idea of you courting a simple farm girl?”

“I simply won’t tell them,” Draco declared, grinning. “At least, not yet.” Grabbing her hand, he kissed it gently. “I feel like I could plow all day and through the night!”

“Hi! What are you two doing over there?” Richard’s stern bark drifted across the yard, and they jumped apart guiltily. 

“Hurry up, Mr Malfoy. We don’t have time to stand around passing the daylight hours!”

Draco gave a final bow and smile to Hermione before striding across the yard and clambering up on the cart beside Richard. 

Hermione stood dumbly in the yard, watching the cart as it grew smaller in the distance, her mind puzzling over the interaction and her blurted agreement.

“Are you feeling unwell, darling?” came a voice at her side, and Hermione jumped. Turning, she looked into her mother’s concerned face. “You were just standing there and I was worried.”

“No. No, I’m fine, Mother.” Hermione shook her head with a small smile. “I just had an unexpected encounter with Draco.”

“Unexpected encounter?” Jean echoed, looking mutinous. “Did he attempt to take liberties without your leave? I’ll knacker him!”

Laughing, Hermione shook her head once more. “No, Mother, he was perfectly gentlemanly. He asked if I would allow him to court me.”

“He what?” Jean’s eyes widened in surprise and pleasure, before she let out a triumphant bark. “Ha! I  _ knew _ that boy fancied you!” eyeing her daughter coyly, she added, “Did you agree?”

Hermione blushed, smiled and nodded. “He wants to impress Father so he can request his blessing without fear of being sent away.”

“So  _ that’s _ the reason he agreed to help Richard plow,” Jean murmured with a knowing smile. “He must fancy you a great deal to take such punishment.” 

“I just hope Father doesn’t work Draco  _ too _ hard today,” Hermione sighed. “He complained that even his ears were bruised following yesterday’s exertions.”

Jean threw back her head and laughed. “His  _ ears _ ! The very thought!” Throwing her arm companionably about Hermione’s shoulders, she led them toward the house. “Come on. Let’s make a start on today’s chores.”   
  


* * *

At lunchtime, Hermione found herself once again making her way to the field where Richard and Draco were working. Today, she found herself uncharacteristically nervous. When she arrived at her destination, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but smile shyly at Draco, and he at her. Richard looked between them suspiciously but said nothing as he ate his bread and cheese. When the men had finished, Hermione gathered up the lunch things and, with a wave, headed back to the homestead.

That evening, when the cart returned, Jean once again implored Draco stay for supper. He looked from Jean to Hermione, then to Richard, who gave an imperceptible nod.

“Thank you Mrs Granger, I would be most grateful to share your meal.”

“Jean, please!” Hermione’s mother simpered. “Come, come! Sit down and rest!”

“Mother! Please!” Hermione hissed once the men were at the pump, washing. “Father will think you’re making overtures!”

“Oh, posh!” Jean snorted, flapping her hand. “He knows better than that.”

Once everyone was seated and served, the little group ate quietly amid a slightly stilted atmosphere, made more so by Richard constantly watching Draco’s every move. Abruptly, Richard placed his cutlery on his plate, rested his elbows on the table, and fixed Draco with a hard stare.

“Malfoy! What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

Draco coughed, choking on his mouthful of potato. “Sir?” he spluttered, face red.

“You heard me! I want to know your intentions. She’s not simply some doxy maid to be discarded!”

“Father!” 

“Richard!”

Hermione gasped in embarrassment at the same time that Jean admonished her husband. 

Draco, who had managed to clear his throat, picked up his mug and drank before speaking. Looking directly at Richard, he stated, “Sir, it is true I have developed feelings for Hermione. I assure you, my intentions toward her are nothing but true. She is kind, clever and has a sharp wit. I would like nothing more than to court her and get to know you better.”

“Hmph,” Richard grunted, clearly not convinced. 

“What lovely words,” Jean smiled. “And she’s pretty, too.”

“Er, yes, she is,” Draco agreed, reddening once again.

“Words can be false,” grumbled Richard. “I’ll not see my daughter taken up the garden path!”

“Excuse me!” Hermione interrupted sharply. “I’ll have you all remember that I am here, as well! I will not be discussed like a cow at the bidding yard!” Three heads turned to look at her, and she continued, “Father, Draco has already asked to court me, and I agreed. I hope you will join Mother in granting us your blessing.” 

She nodded toward Jean, who watched silently.

Richard turned toward his wife. “You knew?” he said, accusingly.

“Only since this morning, after the two of you set out,” she soothed. 

Sighing, Richard looked around the table. “I’ll admit you're not my first choice of suitor for my daughter,” he conceded, looking at Draco. “But Hermione is free to make her own choices, and if this is what she wants, I’ll not deny her. Just be warned—” he added sternly, with a hard stare, “—should you break her heart or play false, I will tie you by your bollocks to the work horse and drag you behind until they snap off.”

Draco gulped. “I understand, sir.”

After the meal, Draco prepared to take his leave. Stopping at the door, he farewelled Hermione with a chaste kiss to her cheek that made the spot tingle. “Goodbye,” he smiled. “I shall see you on the morrow. We’ve half the field to plant and water, and then the work will be done,”

“Goodbye,” Hermione murmured. “Until tomorrow.”

When he had gone, Hermione turned to her parents, half expecting an argument. Her mother was clearly charmed by Draco, but Richard was a different matter and not likely to let the issue lie.

Sure enough, after pacing for several minutes, he turned and asked, “Are you quite certain his intentions are true, Hermione?”

Pausing to think of her reply, she said carefully, “I am confident they are. But,” she sighed. “Nothing is certain, is it? It would be foolish to lay everything on one outcome.”

“But you care for this boy?” Richard pressed.

“I do,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t know quite how it happened, given I barely know him, but I do.”

Shaking his head, Richard moved across the room to kiss his daughter gently on the forehead. “Then I give my blessing freely, if reluctantly,” he declared. “Morgana preserve me, my little girl is not so little any more.”   
  


* * *

Three months later, Hermione and Draco’s relationship was progressing steadily, although they had not formally announced the promises they had made to one another. As far as the village was concerned, Hermione Granger was a maiden with no suitors to speak of.

One Sunday, after church, Ron Weasley approached the Grangers.

“Mr Granger, may I speak with you privately?” He asked, wearing his usual grin.

“What may I help you with today, Mr Weasley?” Richard replied by way of greeting, once they had moved a short distance from Hermione, Jean and the other parishioners.

“I wish to declare my intention to court your daughter,” Ron stated, still grinning. “It is my hope and wish that we may enjoy the appropriate period of formalities and then become husband and wife.”

“I see.” Richard looked at Ron’s expectant expression. “Thank you for raising this with me. I believe in letting my daughter choose a suitor for herself, so I suggest you put your interest to her.”

Ron laughed good-naturedly. “Of course she should know I intend to court her, but she will follow her father’s wishes, will she not?”

“My only wish is for Hermione to be free to choose without undue influence,” Richard answered firmly. “If she consents to your wish to court, I will give my blessing. If, however, she declines, I’ll not order her to act otherwise.”

Something flashed in Ron’s eyes that Richard didn’t like, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. The redhead clapped Richard on the shoulder and nodded before turning and strolling over to where Hermione and Jean stood a short distance away.

“Hermione,” he called, waving.

“Hello, Ronald,” she greeted, eyeing him carefully. 

“Your father tells me he has given you free reign to choose your own suitor. I must say, I found it very unusual! He must have a great deal of trust in your judgement.” He flashed that grin again.

Inwardly, she shuddered. The more often she saw that grin, the more it unnerved her. It wasn’t a friendly expression; to the contrary, it rather made her think of a dog which behaved agreeably most of the time, but may bite suddenly and without warning.

“Father would prefer I use my judgement when the time comes, yes,” Hermione agreed cautiously.

“Excellent, excellent!” I’ll stop by on the morrow, after lunch. I hope we can begin getting to know each other,” Ron said, exuding bonhomie.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Hermione frowned, although in truth she understood perfectly. She simply needed to buy a bit more time to think of a suitable way to decline his sloppy advances.

“I intend to court you, of course,” Ron laughed. “You’re such a sweet innocent, Hermione. I apologise for not being more forthright with you. The first courtship offer is a momentous one for all young women.”

Hermione quietly seethed at his condescension. The arrogance of the man! However, she sensed it would not be wise to announce to Ron she already had a suitor in Draco, so instead opted to smile as sweetly at him as she could muster.

“Your offer is very generous, Ronald, I’m sure. But I’m afraid my duties at home keep me far too busy to give you the time and dedication any suitor deserves from the woman he wishes to court.” She paused, watching his expression. He sharp blue eyes gew cold and the tips of his ears tinged red. “Perhaps Miss Brown? She is quite lovely, of a sweet nature, and I’ve seen her admiring you in church. I’m sure she would be overjoyed if you were to court her instead.”

Ron was silent, his expression unreadable, as he processed Hermione’s answer. Abruptly, the biting dog grin reappeared. “Ahh, Hermione, such a pity! I admire your dedication to your duties in the home, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” He lamented with a sigh and a shake of his head.

He paused, then, eyeing her craftily, added, “Miss Brown, you say? Lavender?” He craned his neck, making a great show of looking over at the blonde woman who was standing by the church doors with her parents and talking to the Diggory men.

“You’re right, she is  _ very _ fetching. Devoted, too.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will court her.” With a final nod and a “Good day!” Ron turned and walked away from Hermione and Jean, his back rigid.

“Oh dear,” Jean sighed. “He didn’t take that very well, did he? At least he went quietly.”

“He couldn’t very well make a scene in front of the whole village,” Hermione pointed out.

Richard, seeing Ron had left, made his way over to his wife and daughter. “Are you alright?” He asked with concern. When they nodded in response, he touched Hermione’s cheek gently. “Let’s go home.” 

The cart ride home was silent, each of the Grangers occupied with their thoughts. Later, sitting at the table with cups of tea in their hands, Hermione watched with trepidation as her parents looked at each other. A silent communication seemed to pass between them. 

Richard turned to Hermione and disclosed, “Ronald makes me uncomfortable. He seems…”

“Intense?” Jean suggested.

“No. Yes. It’s difficult to describe it, exactly,” Richard frowned.

“He doesn’t like to hear the word ‘no’ in any form,” Hermione finished. “He is quick to take offense. I was worried about how he might react this afternoon when I declined his advances.” She took a breath. “But I was more worried about how I, or either of you, might have reacted if he had grown angry. What if something.. If one of us had used magic in front of the village?”

“You can control your magic well enough, just as well as your mother and I can,” Richard reassured Hermione. “It would take a lot more than a temper tantrum from Ronald Weasley to provoke us into using any magic in defense.”

Jean nodded. “Your father’s right, but I agree Ronald is unpredictable. I think we need to perform a protection spell on you, darling,” she added quietly. “I would like to think Ronald will accept your decision, but if he doesn’t…”

“Do you really think he would… try to hurt me?” Hermione asked apprehensively. “He’s physically strong. I don’t know if I could fend him off without using magic.”

“That’s why a protection spell is the best option,” Richard chimed in. “That way, even if he tries, he won’t be able to. But he also won’t be able to prove witchcraft because that would mean admitting he bore you ill will.”

“How does a protection spell work?” Hermione inquired, curious in spite of herself.

“We bind some of our magic to you to ensure no harm will come to you,” Richard explained.

“To be as effective as possible, we need to go to a source of great magical energy,” Jean replied. “Stonehenge is a day’s travel. It is a place of powerful, old magic. There are ley lines beneath it which will help channel and strengthen the spell.”

“When do we go?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Richard decided.

A thought occurred to Hermione. “What about Draco? He meant to stop by tomorrow. I have no way of getting a message to him,” she worried.

“We’ll leave a message here for him,” Jean suggested. “In the barn, perhaps?”

“Maybe in the stall he usually houses Grindelwald in,” Hermione agreed thoughtfully. 

“We’d best prepare, then,” Richard stated, standing. “We’ll need supplies for two days. We’ll remain overnight at Stonehenge after performing the spell and return the following morning.”   
  


* * *

  
Ronald Weasley watched from his hiding spot as the cart trundled into the distance. He had been watching the house since first light. Clearly, they were planning to be away at least overnight, as they had packed bedrolls and blankets, as well as cookware and food. 

Just before they left, Hermione had briefly entered the barn, holding something in her hand. Upon emerging, both hands had been empty. Had she left something in there? For him, perhaps?

At first, he had been angry when she had rejected him and suggested Lavender instead but, after he thought about it, he came to the conclusion she was just being coy. Ron convinced himself that she would come around - of course she would! - he just had to help her realise they were meant to be together.

Once the Grangers were out of sight, Ron made his way quickly over to the barn door. As he had thought, it was latched but not locked. He opened the door and went inside, standing in the gloom until his eyes adjusted.  _ Now, where would she leave such an object?  _ He wondered. The barn was large and held many potential hiding places.

Still, it was unlikely they would turn back unexpectedly. Richard Granger was known to be a meticulous man who never neglected small details. He would have ensured they had everything they needed for their journey.  _ I have all day _ , Ron told himself as he began to search the barn for the thing Hermione had deposited.

Several hours later, Ron was hot, dirty and growing increasingly frustrated. He was sure he had examined every nook and cranny and overturned every bucket in the barn, but nary a thing had he found. He was just about ready to give up when his glance happened upon the horse stalls. 

They were all empty - and didn’t the Grangers own a second horse in addition to the pony that usually pulled their cart? It must be sequestered away in one of the fields, which meant they were most certainly intending to be away for at least two days. He hadn’t thought to look in that part of the barn earlier, so he strode over to the first stall.

A search of the first two stalls yielded nothing but, in the third stall, there was a feed bag hanging on a nail. It looked out of place; the other feed bags were on a shelf adjacent to the barn entrance. He took it down and examined it, then placed his hand inside.

Feeling paper at the bottom, he withdrew a folded note and laughed triumphantly. As he thought, she had left something for him. He was perplexed as to why she had chosen to secret it away inside a feed bag, but it was of no consequence. 

Ron opened the note in anticipation. Perhaps she wanted to meet him privately one evening? His cock twitched at the thought of her bare skin glowing in the moonlight before him.

Reading the note, his eager expression quickly faded, to be replaced first by confusion, then shock, then finally anger.

_ My dearest Draco, _

  
  
  


_ We have urgently and unexpectedly been called away, and I regret that I was unable to send a message to you before your arrival this afternoon. _

_ We expect to be gone for two days. I hope you will call on me upon our return. Please forgive the unexpected change in plans. I anticipate your next visit, as do my parents. _

_ Love, _

_ Hermione. _

“Draco…? Draco Malfoy? That rich bastard beyond the plantation?” Ron spluttered in disbelief. “You would reject me and instead rut with that upper class prick?” His fist closed around the note, and he thrust it into the pocket of his trousers.

“You want this man? Over my dead body. You shall not have him,” Ron snarled.

He stormed from the barn, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

After a long day of travelling, the Grangers arrived at Stonehenge. Hermione sat in silent awe, admiring the towering columns as they drew ever closer, framed in the halo of the setting sun’s light. She began to feel a strange thrum through her body and stretched out her arms in wonderment. “I tingle all over,” she marveled.

“That’s the magic of this place,” Jean smiled. “Any witch or wizard who comes near will sense its energy. Even some Muggles feel its power, although they do not understand it.”

Richard led the cart toward a copse of trees which grew a short distance from the ancient structure. “We’ll make our camp in there and prepare ourselves,” he stated, pointing in the direction they were moving. “We’ll perform the spell at midnight.”

Upon their arrival, Richard issued directions and the family worked together to quickly set up sleeping and cooking areas. Soon, their camp was ready and a small cooking fire was crackling merrily. 

Hermione tried to sit still, but she found herself full of nervous energy and constantly fidgeting instead. 

“You should try and get some sleep, darling,” Jean suggested. “You’ll need your energy for tonight.”

“I can’t possibly sleep!” Hermione cried. “My mind is buzzing like a hive of bees.”

“It’s the magic,” Richard reassured her. “It’s a strange sensation, but you’ll adjust soon. Do as your mother says - try to rest. We’ll be doing the same.”

“Alright,” Hermione sighed. She crawled under the heavy linen overhang that served as their shelter, secured against the side of the cart, and curled up in a blanket.  _ I’ll not be able to sleep a wink, _ she told herself.

She woke with a start some unknown time later. It was pitch black, and Jean was shaking her shoulder gently. “Hermione,” she said softly. “It will soon be midnight. It’s time.” 

Soft light suddenly bloomed as Richard lit a lantern. Hermione sat up, yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before she crawled out from under the shelter. “What do I need to bring?”

“Only your wand,” Richard answered with a smile.

The Grangers emerged from the copse and began to make their way to the circle of stones ahead. Hermione was once again amazed by the raw power of the place; if anything, the sensations she had felt earlier in the day had intensified with the blue darkness of night.

Above them, a half-moon shone brightly. The circle before them appeared to hold an eerie light of its own, and Hermione thought she could hear voices singing softly. The very ground hummed, and her heart began to race. 

As they entered the outer circle, Hermione between her parents, Jean and Richard each took one of her hands to lead her toward the centre. The soft voices suddenly fell silent while the humming beneath their feet grew stronger. Stopping inside the inner stones, Jean and Richard gently guided Hermione to stand in front of them, each sliding the hands holding hers up her forearms.

“Grasp our arms firmly,” instructed Richard. “Breathe steadily and relax.”

Hermione did as she was bid as her parents raised their wands.

“I, Richard Stan Granger, do vow to protect my daughter, Hermione Jean Granger,” intoned Richard.

“I, Jean Rachel Granger, do vow to protect my daughter, Hermione Jean Granger,” echoed Jean.

Two golden threads erupted from their wands, each wrapping themselves around their clasped arms.

“I will protect you, daughter, with my magic,” chanted her parents. Twin crimson threads erupted and joined the first.

“I will protect you, daughter, with my life,” they finished. Green strands, this time, curled across the others.

The strands shone bright and grew hot before fading beneath their skin, and the spell was complete. Hermione suddenly felt exhausted, and glancing at her parents’ faces, it was clear they felt the same.

“Let’s return to camp,” suggested Richard. “We’ll sleep late tomorrow.”

They were nearly back at the copse when a shadow moved. 

Richard and Jean simultaneously drew their wands and stood side-by-side in front of Hermione, shielding her. 

“Who’s there?” Richard demanded. “Show yourself!”

A cackle floated over to them from the darkness, and the shadow moved closer. As the figure moved into the light, Hermione gasped softly. A woman stood before them. She wore a long, tattered black dress. Her black curls were long and wild, even more so than Hermione’s. Her eyes sparkled with mad glee in a face that was darkly beautiful, and her alabaster skin was stark against her dark clothing.

“You’re witches!” She declared. “And a wizard!” The woman threw back her head and laughed.

“Do us no harm, woman!” Richard warned.

“Harm? Not yet,” the woman snorted in amusement. “Fear not. I’ll not throw the first curse… but be warned - I  _ will _ throw the last.”

“You’re a witch too,” Hermione observed from behind her parents, staring curiously over their shoulders. “I’ve never met another magical person outside of my parents.”

“What’s your name?” Jean asked, her wand still held aloft.

“My name,” the woman said, with a sweeping bow, “is Bellatrix Black.”   
  


* * *

Back at the camp, the Grangers sat before the rekindled fire, their previous thoughts of sleep quite forgotten. Jean had brewed tea, and now they all sipped the hot liquid as the woman they had encountered that evening told her tale.

“I was born into a family of Muggles,” Bellatrix began. “I didn’t understand what I was, and neither did they. My parents thought I was possessed by the devil.”

“Witches and wizards can be born from Muggles?” Hermione asked in amazement.

“It’s rare, but yes,” Richard nodded.

“Incidents throughout my childhood frightened them, so they brought in a priest to attempt to exorcise the evil spirits from my soul. When it didn’t work, he declared me beyond saving and suggested they kill me before I brought about their undoing.”

“How loathsome,” Jean gasped. “How did you escape?”

“With the help of my sisters,” Bellatrix answered. “Narcissa and Andromeda. I was chained up outside overnight. They released me, gave me a bundle with all the food and clothing I could carry, and told me to run. They said I must never return. I fled.”

The dark-haired woman closed her eyes at the memory. “I ran until my legs would take me no further, then hid behind a rock in a field. Over the next few days, I wandered. I was out of food and about ready to give up when a woman found me. Her name was Augusta.” 

Bellatrix’s eyes fluttered open, revealing her unshed tears.

“Augusta knew what I was. She took me to her home and fed me, gave me a bath, clean clothing and a warm bed to sleep in. When I had recovered, she sat me down and said to me, ‘Girl, you are a witch.’ At first, I thought she was a madwoman, but I didn’t care so long as she didn’t cast me out into the cold again.”

“Where is Augusta now?” Richard asked.

“She’s dead,” Bellatrix replied darkly. “She died trying to protect me. It’s my fault she’s gone.”

“What happened?” Jean inquired.

“Augusta took me to meet some other magical folk she knew,” Bellatrix explained, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “They asked of my heritage. I didn’t know any better, and I told them of my Muggle parents. They called me a Mudblood and beat me.”

Hermione looked at her parents’ grim expressions. “What does that mean?” She whispered.

“It means ‘dirty blood,’” Richard answered. “It’s a cruel word used against magical folk like Bellatrix who are Muggle-born.”

“But why?” Hermione demanded. “What’s wrong with their blood?”

“Nothing at all, darling,” Jean shared. “But some magical folk who are descended from magical families - purebloods - believe that their bloodlines are tainted by Muggleborns, and they are undeserving of their magical gifts.”

“But that’s utterly ridiculous!” Hermione exclaimed indignantly. Turning to Bellatrix, she asked, “How strong is your spellwork?”

“Just as strong as anyone else’s,” she proclaimed proudly, tilting her chin in defiance. “Stronger than some. I practiced hard. I didn’t want to disappoint Augusta. She taught me everything I knew.”

“How did she die?” Hermione questioned softly.

“She dueled them when they attacked me,” Bellatrix sighed. “But she was outnumbered. She fought hard, and I tried to help, but I was hit with a stunning spell. When I woke, she was being tortured with the _C_ _ ruciatus _ curse.”

Hermione shivered. “It sounds bad.”

“It’s dark magic,” Richard explained. “It causes the victim unbearable pain.”

“It feels like your skin is being flayed from your bones,” Bellatrix added. Your insides burn, you can’t think, you can’t breathe. All you feel is agony.”

“Why would someone use a spell like that against another?” Hermione inquired with a shudder.

“Not all magical folk are good, Hermione,” Jean admitted. “There are bad witches and wizards, just as there are bad Muggles.”

“They killed Augusta in front of me,” Bellatrix whispered. “Then they turned on me. They crucio’ed me until I pissed myself and passed out from the pain. When I woke up, two men were holding me down while a woman cut into my arm with her dagger. They left me with this.” 

Bellatrix pulled up her dress sleeve to reveal a long, ugly scar along her left forearm. The jagged, angry red markings formed the word _M_ _ udblood _ . Hermione closed her eyes at the sight. 

“It will never properly heal. The dagger itself was cursed. I bled and bled, and they left me for dead beside Augusta’s body, dumping both of us in the forest for the animals. I managed to crawl to a nearby stream and was able to survive by drinking from it when I wasn’t unconscious. I don’t know how long I remained there, but when I finally had the strength to return to Augusta’s home, I found it destroyed by fire. Nothing was left. I’ve wandered ever since, avoiding other people as much as possible and stealing what little food and clothing I could.”

“And how long have you been in this state?” Jean asked.

“I don’t know,” Bellatrix shrugged. “Years.”

“How old are you?” Hermione added.

“I’m not sure. I’ve lost track of the seasons. Perhaps thirty summers,” Bellatrix guessed. “I was the eldest child. Cissy was the youngest, and ‘Meda two years in between us.”

“You said one of your sisters was named Narcissa,” Hermione recalled. “The man courting me - his mother goes by that name.”

“What is the boy called?” The dark-haired witch asked curiously.

“His name is Draco,” Hermione smiled. “Surely he is your nephew, and she your sister. Narcissa isn’t exactly a common name. You must come back with us! You could be reunited! Don’t you agree, mother? Father?” Hermione turned to her parents excitedly.

Jean and Richard looked at one another, then back to Bellatrix.

“I think that decision is best left to Bellatrix,” Richard said carefully. “Considering her unhappy situation.”

Bellatrix had resumed fiddling with the hem of her dress. “I’m not sure that I can,” she confessed quietly. “I’ve been on my own for too long. I don’t know how to go among other people any more. And what if she turns me away? I couldn’t bear it!” 

“No! No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Bellatrix’s eyes swam with more sudden unshed tears, and she shook her head so hard her wild curls flew about.

“What made you approach us, if you mistrust people so?” Hermione wondered.

“I sensed you were different,” Bellatrix mused. “I come here often to replenish my energy. It’s not the same without a wand. I can perform wandless magic, of course, but it lacks finesse and weakens me faster. I was here, near your camp, when the three of you entered the circle.”

“You saw us perform the protection spell?” Jean questioned.

“Yes,” Bellatrix nodded. “Who do you need to protect her from?”

“A boy in our village. His preoccupation with Hermione is… unhealthy.” Richard sighed. “He was quite insistent that she allow him to court her, but when she declined, he seemed very aggrieved.”

“Muggle men are beasts, in my experience,” Bellatrix glared. “They lay their hands on their women and their children, fight amongst themselves and are hard, cruel creatures.”

“They’re not all like that,” Hermione argued. “Draco has been nothing but kind and gentlemanly, and I’m sure he would never harm another.”

“One can only hope,” Bellatrix replied, unconvinced.

“Are you certain you won’t return to the village with us?” Hermione tried again.

“I couldn’t,” Bellatrix looked away uncomfortably. “Perhaps in time, but not now.” 

“At least rest by our fire tonight,” Jean pleaded.

“Thank you.” Bellatrix nodded.

“I think everyone should get some sleep,” Richard stated, standing. The rest of the party followed suit, rolling themselves up in blankets. Soon, exhausted by the night’s events, everyone was asleep.

_________________________________________________________________

When they woke the next morning, Bellatrix was gone, her blankets folded neatly on the spot where she had slept.

“Do you think we’ll see her again?” Hermione asked as they broke camp.

“I don’t know,” Jean frowned. “I wish we could have done more for her. She’s had a hard, lonely life.”

“Something didn’t seem right with her,” Richard observed. “I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly. Her magic was… off.”

“Well, she’s been without a wand and on her own for who knows how long,” Jean shrugged. “Her magic and her mind will be unfocused.”

“Surely she’s not  _ mad _ , Mother,” Hermione argued. “Perhaps she’s just wary, and I don’t blame her.”

“Being on your own for so long with little security or certainty can damage the mind,” Richard countered as they climbed aboard the cart. “It doesn’t make that person bad, but it can affect their ability to perceive the world around them.”

As Mordred pulled them away from Stonehenge, Hermione looked around for any sign of Bellatrix. She had liked the woman, even if she had been strange, and had felt a great sadness for what she had been through. Straining her eyes, she thought she saw a flash of black back in the copse, but she couldn’t be sure if it was real or a trick of the light and shadows.

Settling back, she decided to mention the encounter to Draco - omitting, of course, any mention of magic - and implore he attempt to find out how his mother felt about Bellatrix.  
  


* * *

Ron Weasley waited amongst the trees in the plantation. He did not know when the Grangers would return, but he was prepared to wait as long as he needed to.

He had already imprisoned that worthless bastard, Malfoy, the day before, after discovering the note. It had been easy. The fool had ridden right by him on the road, barely noticing the redheaded man who sat on an overturned log.

Once Malfoy had passed him by, Ron pulled out his sling. There were few things he was good at, but his aim and force with this tool were both excellent. He loaded it, wound up, and let the stone fly. It struck the blond man on the back of his head, and he fell bonelessly from his horse.

Ron rushed up to check the body. He was alive, which was good. Ron wanted to punish him for stealing Hermione - she was  _ his, _ dammit! He caught the horse, which had stopped nearby, and hoisted Malfoy’s unconscious form over the horse’s flanks. Grabbing the reins, he led it back through the plantation. He knew of an old, disused shack among the trees. It would be the perfect place.

Now, he waited. He would need to get rid of her meddlesome parents, of that he was certain. They clearly didn’t have the ability to adequately control their daughter, letting her make decisions on her own and run wild, as if she was a man. She needed a firm, correcting hand to remind her of where her proper place was in the world. He, Ron, would give her that. Eventually, she would be grateful.

He checked his bow and quiver for the umpteenth time. He was also a talented archer, rarely missing his target. He hunted regularly to help keep food on the table of the Weasley clan. He was certain his arrows would serve him well once again when the time came.

He heard a noise and listened carefully. Was it a cart approaching? Yes, it was. 

“Hunting season is here,” Ron murmured to himself as he slung the quiver over his back and picked up the bow. The biting dog grin was back.  
  


* * *

  
The Grangers rode silently on the last stretch home, weary from their long journey and the events of the previous night.

Jean was dozing, and Hermione had just swapped places with Richard. She had been driving so that he could nap, but he had awoken and now sat in the driver’s seat. Hermione climbed into the back of the cart. 

Her mind was abuzz with her experiences at Stonehenge, especially their encounter with Bellatrix. After talking with her parents, she had begun to think the woman really was slightly mad, but who could blame her, really? 

Ostracised first by her family, and then by her own kind, all because she had been born a witch to Muggle parents. Bellatrix had seen the one constant, kind person in her life, her mentor and friend, murdered before her very eyes. She had been tortured and disfigured by cruel bigots, surviving on her own for years, living by her wits and determination.

Yes, Bellatrix’s mind likely had been affected, but Hermione felt a fondness for the woman and an urge to protect her from further harm. She believed that Draco would talk to Narcissa if she asked him to, and Hermione hoped that the steely, imposing-looking blonde woman would remember her older sister and wish to see her again.

Thinking of Draco, Hermione smiled. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation of seeing him again - she only hoped he had found her note and wasn’t put out. She had missed him dearly, despite the fact she had seen him only four days prior. 

They entered the path leading through the plantation and the shadows descended over them, the thick boughs of the trees lining either side of the road filtering out most of the sun’s rays. Hermione stared disinterestedly through the trees, then squinted - she thought she had seen movement between the trunks ahead.  _ Perhaps a deer, _ she mused to herself.

They were well into the trees when she was startled by a soft whistling noise, followed by a muffled  _ thunk _ . In front of her, Richard suddenly went rigid, then started to topple backwards.

“Father…?” she began to ask in concern. 

As he slithered bonelessly into the back of the cart, she saw the arrow protruding from his heart and began to scream.

Jean sat up in alarm. “Hermione, darling, what’s…” seeing her husband’s body, she gasped in horror. “Richard? Richard!”

The whistling noise came again, and a second arrow struck the cart’s wooden side, the shaft quivering with the impact.

“Get down, mother! We’re being attacked!” Hermione cried, pulling Jean to the baseboards. Scrabbling for her wand, she cast a shield charm.  _ “Protego!” _

“Hermione! Be careful!” Jean gasped. 

“What else can we do, Mother? We have no other way of defending ourselves, but for magic!” Hermione hissed back. A third arrow flew over their heads from behind, and Hermione desperately fired a stunning spell in the direction it had come from. Jean’s own spell followed a moment later.

“What’s this?” A cheerful voice called from the shadows. It sounded horribly familiar. “What are these strange lights? Are you witches? Witches must be put to death; they are evil.”

“What are we going to do, Mother?” Hermione murmured.

“I don’t know, darling,” Jean answered helplessly. “If we can’t identify where he is, it will be near impossible to hit him with any spell.”

“A Disillusionment Charm!” Hermione whispered desperately. “If he can’t see us, we can escape the cart and run for shelter in the trees!”

“Good idea, darling,” Jean answered quietly. Quickly, they performed the charm, tapping each other smartly.

Hermione felt the strange sensation of an egg being cracked on her head and watched as her body suddenly appeared to disappear.

“Quickly! You first!” Hermione felt Jean pushing her toward the side of the cart, and she rolled over the edge, dropping as silently as she could to the ground. Sure her mother would be right behind her, she made for the trees.

She was almost there when she heard a sickening  _ thunk _ , followed by a strangled gurgle. Hermione turned around,horrified to see her mother reappearing, an arrow protruding from her stomach.

“Hermione… run,” she gasped, before collapsing in the road.

“Mother!” Hermione screamed, running back to Jean’s body. “No!”

Weeping, she cupped Jean’s lifeless face. “I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you both so much.” She started to clamber to her feet, determined to run to safety. That was when something struck her in the temple, and instead of running, she collapsed and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione woke slowly, her head throbbing where it had been struck and her stomach churning. She tried to move and found she could not; her arms and legs were bound. She realised she was tied to a chair.

Looking around carefully, she saw she was in… her barn? She frowned in confusion. What had happened…?

With a shock, the memories came flooding back. The attack among the trees. Her father, then her mother, falling to an unknown foe, arrows in their bodies. Blood. Screaming. Her stomach lurched and bile rose in her throat. Immobile, she could only turn her head to the side, attempting and failing to avoid soiling herself as she vomited helplessly.

The door opened, and a figure entered. The sudden brightness momentarily blinded her, and she had to strain to make out the person’s identity. They moved closer, and she recognised the shock of red hair.

“Ronald?” She exclaimed in disbelief.

“Hello, Hermione,” Ron answered flatly. “I see your filth knows no bounds.” He looked down at the mess she had made in mild disgust.

“What on earth are you talking about?” She spat her heart racing in fear.  _ He knew. _ Somehow, he knew. Had it been him in the woods?

“You’re a witch, as was your bitch of a mother. Brides of Satan,” Ron replied, shaking his head. “That trick where you both seemed to vanish was… impressive.” He laughed cruelly. “But my aim was more impressive, don’t you think?” 

“You bastard,” she hissed, straining at the ropes. “It  _ was _ you in the woods! Murderer! You vile, loathsome son of a bitch!”

Ron’s hand whipped out, striking her hard across the face. The blow knocked her already aching head to the side and a grey mist came over her vision. Realising she was close to blacking out again, she fought to remain conscious. 

“I will have my revenge!” She vowed. “I will repay this debt!”

Ron smirked. “Such brave words, my pretty. What are you going to do, tied up and without your instrument of evil? I threw those sticks of yours into the woods. No one will ever find them, and you’re powerless. As for your father, I suppose his death is a mercy. I most likely freed his soul from the clutches of the devil.”

He reached out to stroke her hair, and she jerked away from him.

“This is all your fault, you know. If you had only agreed to let me court you.” He paused, thinking. “And if only you hadn’t whored yourself to that blond prick  _ Malfoy. _ ” He spat the name as if it contained a bad taste.

“What?” Hermione gasped.

“I found the note, Hermione.” Ron was wearing that biting dog grin, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I know all about your little tryst.”

“Don’t you go near him!” She snarled, straining at the ropes once more.

“Don’t go near him? I’m afraid it’s a little late for that!” Ron replied with good cheer. At her distraught expression, he added, “Oh! Fear not! He’s not dead... Not yet, anyway.”

“His family will come looking for him!” Hermione argued desperately.

“I’m sure they will. But they won’t find him,” Ron boasted. “No one will find him. No one knows where he is but me.”

“And what are you going to do with me?” She asked, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Well, by rights I should just hand you over to the church,” Ron shrugged. “But, luckily for you, I still love you, even if you are the devil’s slut. I’ll marry you, and you’ll bear my children and do as I command, and you may be allowed to live. I’ll keep your secret if you obey.”

“I’ll never marry you!” She spat.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Ron answered, his voice tinged with faux regret. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bottle. Uncorking it, he grabbed her chin with one hand and forced her head back. She tried to bite him and he slapped her again before grasping her chin once more. Squeezing her cheeks, he forced her mouth open and poured several drops of the liquid into her mouth, then released her.

Holding the bottle so she could see it, he showed her the label. “Laudanum,” he explained. “It costs a pretty penny, but luckily your lover was wearing some very fine rings. Selling them fetched me a very good price. Enough to buy ample supplies of this—” he shook the bottle gently, “—to keep you docile, and to buy the minister off so he will consent to marry us in a small, private ceremony, and not ask awkward questions.”

Hermione tried to fight, to argue, but her eyes were growing heavy. The pain she had previously felt had faded away and her head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Ron’s voice became a gentle, lulling hum, and darkness moved in as the effects of the drug overcame her.   
  


* * *

When Hermione awoke a second time, she felt even worse than she had previously. The pain was back, but on top of that the connection between her brain and her body was logy. She was lying down this time rather than being bound to a chair. However, her wrists were tied with cloth, so her options for defending herself were still limited. 

_ Sit up, sit up! _ She tried to command of herself, but the best she could manage was to flop and flail like a fish out of water. Panting, exhausted and nauseous, she settled for examining her surroundings. She had been moved from the barn to her sleeping chambers.

She wondered if her parents’ bodies had been discovered yet. Would she at least be able to lay them to rest properly? How long had it been? There was no way of knowing any of these things.

Hermione heard footsteps approaching and shrank away from the door. 

Ron entered the room and looked down at her appraisingly.

“Excellent! You’re awake!”

Hermione tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry and her tongue too swollen.

“Oh! How thoughtless of me!” Ron exclaimed. “You must be parched!” He left and she could hear him rustling about in the main room of the house. 

He returned after several minutes holding a cup of water. Making his way over to Hermione, Ron slid a hand behind her head and lifted her, holding the cup to her lips so she could drink.

“How…” Hermione moved her mouth and tongue, forcing them to work. “How long have I…?”

“How long have you been asleep? More than a day. I suspect a great deal of it was to do with the blow to your head, but perhaps I gave you too much laudanum. I shall have to reduce your dose.” He gave her that biting dog grin. “Can’t have you dying on me! I would be most distraught.”

Hermione snorted in disbelief. 

“Now, I think you should bathe and change,” Ron continued. “Forgive me for being indelicate, my love, but your odour at this time is less than pleasant.”

Hermione shuddered at the endearment, but could not bring herself to be offended by his observations. As well as the vomit and sweat clinging to her skin and clothes, she was certain her bladder had emptied at some stage. Truthfully, she would love to bathe.

With his help, she managed to make her way out of the bedchamber. She still felt somewhat strange from the effects of the laudanum, but she felt she was slowly regaining her wits as it wore off.

Ron seated her at the table and busied himself heating a large pot of water over the fire. Hermione could do nothing but watch him apprehensively. When the water was hot, he filled a basin and carried it to the back room, which had a sloping hard-packed dirt floor that allowed water to run into a small gutter and out of the house.

Next, he gathered up some of her clothing and a bar of soap and helped her to the room, placing the items on a small shelf. He unbound her hands, looking at her with a mixture of expectation and uncertainty.

_ Does he expect me to stand naked and wash before him? _ Hermione thought in disgust. He truly was perverted.

“I should like to be afforded my privacy,” she stated, drawing herself up and trying to sound as haughty as possible. “It would not be proper for you to observe me performing such a personal task.”

Ron gave her a blank stare that made her afraid. Moments later, he shook his head and smiled.

“Of course, you’re right, my love! We are not wed yet. I’ll have plenty of time to linger over your form later.” He leered at her and Hermione felt her stomach clench again. She fought the urge to vomit, and waited for him to leave the room.

When he had left her in peace, Hermione stripped down and scrubbed her body as fast as she could manage, sighing in relief as the hot water and plain soap washed away the grime coating her skin. Once finished, she dressed quickly, fearing Ron might return if she tarried too long.

Finally, she emerged from the room.

“Better?” Ron asked kindly.

Hermione nodded in response.

Suddenly, Ron was on his feet, crossing the room. Before she could retreat, he had his hand around her throat.

“I’ll not be disrespected,” he growled. “You will speak to me politely and meekly when I address you and behave agreeably, or you shall soon regret it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Hermione croaked as Ron put pressure on her windpipe.

The blow to her face from his other hand stung, but was less forceful than the last time he had struck her.

“You will say, ‘yes, my love’,” he instructed, panting.

“Y—yes, my love,” Hermione gasped.

Ron let her go, patting her shoulder. “Good girl! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Pointing to the kitchen, he added, “Now, set about making cheese and bread for the minister. I expect he’ll be along directly to wed us.”

Hermione decided to do as she was bid, for now, and began preparing food.

“I must say, I’m relieved you awoke when you did,” Ron chattered on as she worked. “I was beginning to think you would still be abed when he arrived, and  _ then _ what would I have done?”

“What  _ would _ you have done, had I been asleep still?” She asked. The more information she could coax from him, the better. He might say something that would prove useful.

“Of course, I had it all worked out,” Ron bragged. “I had planned to tell him you were still in grave shock from seeing your beloved parents cruelly murdered by that unknown attacker, and perhaps ask him to return the following day to see if you were ready to be wed.”

“What does the minister know of my parents’ death and how you came to be involved?” Hermione pressed, as she placed the food on the table. Ron looked at her with a frown, and she added, “If we are to avoid raising the minister’s suspicions, do you not think we should both be in agreement as to what happened?”

Ron nodded thoughtfully in response. “No, you’re right.”

He leaned back on the bench and stretched. “You and your parents were returning. A man with his face concealed by a hood fell upon your cart with arrows, and your parents were cruelly slain. You ran into the woods and the man made off. I was out for a ride and came upon the gruesome scene quite unexpectedly.” He looked at Hermione to make sure she was following, and she nodded her understanding.

“I examined the bodies and noticed your absence,” Ron continued. “I searched and called, hoping to find you alive, and you emerged from the trees, covered in blood and quite beside yourself. Out of your mind with fear and grief, you were.”

“Out of my mind,” Hermione echoed faintly.

“I rescued you and returned you to your home, bringing back your parents’ bodies on the cart, which thankfully the murderer did not make off with,” Ron explained. “I was greatly distressed to know you had come so close to being murdered, and that you now had nobody to care for or protect you. I declared my love for you, and you declared for me. I asked if you would consent to be my wife and you readily agreed.” 

Hermione was pale. The depth of his deception! But had he really brought her parents’ bodies home?

“What of my parents bodies?” She asked quietly. “Truthfully?”

“Oh, they’re here,” Ron smiled. “They remain in the cart. They will be beginning to ripen by now, I’m sure.”

Hermione gasped and began to sob, her face in her hands.

“Would you like to lay them to rest?” Ron asked, tenderness in his voice.

“Yes… yes. Please! I beg you, Ronald,” she cried. “Allow me to place them decently in the ground.”

“Behave for the minster, say your vows truly and with love, and perform the consummation to my satisfaction,” Ron offered. “And then on the morrow, I will allow you to farewell them here, on their land.”

_ Consummation? _ Her mind gibbered. Of course he would expect her to lie with him, but she couldn’t possibly… and yet she must. As much as the very thought repulsed every part of her being, she knew she must.

“Very well, Ronald,” Hermione agreed quietly. “I shall do all that you say, and do my duty as your wife.”

“Excellent!” Ron exclaimed in a jolly voice.

Soon after, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard, drawing near. Ron went out the door and returned several minutes later with the minister behind him.

“Young Miss Granger!” He greeted. “I am most saddened to hear of your parents ‘ untimely deaths. What a lucky thing that Mr Weasley happened upon the scene.”

“Yes, most lucky,” Hermione replied, woodenly.

Ron gave her a warning look from over the minister's shoulder and she forced a small smile to her lips. “My grief over the loss of my mother and father is great, but my darling Ron will care for me as they once did. I am sure they would have approved of our union.”

“I’m sure they would’ve, child,” the minister agreed. “Now, shall we begin? Stand over here, by the fire.”

Ron moved across the room to help Hermione to her feet, guiding her over to the fire as the minister had instructed.

“Mr Weasley, lay your hand over Miss Granger’s,” the minister ordered.

When their hands were extended, the minister began, reading from his bible before intoning the standard marriage vows recited before every couple who wed. Hermione tried to pay attention, knowing her cue would be fast approaching and not wanting to risk angering Ron.

“Do you, Miss Granger, vow to obey and honor this man, Ronald Weasley, to provide for him, be a loving and virtuous wife, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” she said quietly.

“And do you, Mr Weasley, vow to protect and provide for Miss Granger, to be a loving and virtuous husband, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Ron agreed firmly.

“I now declare you to be husband and wife. You are wed,” the minister finished. “May the Lord bless and watch over you both, Amen.”

“Amen,” Hermione and Ron echoed.

“Minister, won’t you partake of bread and cheese?” Ron invited, indicating the table.

“Yes, I believe I shall,” the minster replied agreeably.

Once the minister had eaten his fill, he took his leave and Hermione was once again alone with Ron. She trembled, knowing what was to come and not knowing how she would endure it.

Ron stood up and extended his hand to Hermione. “Shall we retire, wife?” He invited.

Knowing she could not do otherwise, she took his hand and stood, allowing him to guide her toward the steps that led to the loft area where her parents used to sleep.

They entered the space, Ron holding a lantern to give them light against the fading day. Hermione noticed that many of her parents’ personal effects had already been removed, and her heart broke once again for them.

Wordlessly, she laid upon the mattress, staring at the curved ceiling. She felt Ron settle alongside and jumped when he reached out to touch her.

“Remember your promise, Hermione,” Ron said sternly. “If you wish to lay your parents to rest, you must give yourself to me.”

“I’m sorry, Ronald,” she apologised. “I’m afraid. I’ve never lain with a man before.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ron growled. “How many times did you fuck Malfoy?”

“I never did! We were merely courting!” Hermione cried desperately. “Please, Ronald, you must believe me! I have never lain with any man. I have not yet lost my maidenhead.”

“You are still untouched?” Ron checked. “You are not deceiving me?”

“I swear to you, I tell no falsehoods,” she pleaded. “I’m just terribly afraid it will hurt and that I will not please you.”

Ron’s expression softened as he looked at her.

“Would you like a few drops of laudanum?” He asked. “Not too much, mind - I would like you awake! Just enough to relax you.”

Hermione nodded. Anything, anything to make this nightmare seem less of a living horror. 

Ron reached into his pocket and withdrew the bottle. “Open up,” he prompted, and she opened her mouth obediently. She felt the cool, bitter liquid under her tongue and sighed.

Soon she felt a light, floaty sensation spread through her body and felt her taut muscles begin to loosen. Ron was tugging at her clothes, but it seemed far away and disconnected. 

She felt Ron push her thighs apart as he positioned himself above her, followed by fumbling and a sudden sharp pain between her legs that pulled her partway to the surface; the redheaded man who was now her husband had forced his member inside her and now began to thrust erratically.

“Your cunt is so tight, my love,” he gasped. 

After only a few minutes of thrusting and grunting, Ron groaned as he spilled his seed into her. Hermione was thankful it had been over quickly.

Pulling out and rolling off her, Ron looked down at his cock and her exposed thighs, then smiled. “I did take your maidenhead, after all,” he observed, looking at her blood smeared between them.

Standing, he began to dress. “I apologise for leaving the marriage bed so soon, my love, but I have business I must attend to,” Ron said with regret.

“As you wish, husband,” Hermione replied listlessly. 

“I shall not be long,” Ron promised as he took up the lantern.

She heard him descend the steps and leave the house, followed soon after by the sound of him departing ahorse.

_ Escape! _ Her mind urged. _ Do it now, while he is out of the house! _

Hermione willed her body to sit up, her limbs to move, but she simply could not summon the energy.

_ The laudanum,  _ she realised.  _ He gave it to me so I would not be able to muster the will to flee once he left me alone. _

“No more,” she croaked. “I’ll not take any more of it unless he forces me to.”

Her eyes were heavy. She was exhausted from the day’s exertions, still not fully recovered from the events following the surprise attack.  _ I need to think of a plan _ , Hermione told herself. But, try as she might, she could not fight off the darkness, and she slept.   
  


* * *

Draco Malfoy was rudely awoken by a boot in his side, and he groaned in pain.

“Wake up, vile dog!” The man bellowed.

Draco struggled to open his eyes, but his face was so swollen from the beating he had taken; he felt like he was squinting and his vision was limited.

He recognised the voice, however. That disgusting weasel, one of the redheaded clan from the village. He knew their family was poor and they bred like rabbits. He had come to utterly loathe that voice and the face it belonged to.

_ He had first regained consciousness some unknown time prior with an aching head. The last thing he remembered was riding toward the Granger’s homestead to spend time with Hermione as previously arranged. Draco had been mightily confused to find himself in what appeared to be a derelict shack, with his hands bound behind him and his ankles also restrained. _

_ “Well, well, look who’s awake,” came a voice. “You tried to take what’s rightfully mine. I can’t have that. Rich pieces of shit like you have enough without taking away our women, too.” _

_ “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Draco had managed to grind out. The pain in his head had made him disoriented and he had no idea who this man was or what he was talking about. _

_ The man had laughed derisively and stepped into the light. “Of course you wouldn’t know who I am,” he sneered. “You wouldn’t notice anyone who isn’t as rich as you.” _

_ Draco recognised the red hair. “Red hair, shabby clothes… you must be a Weasley,” he concluded, snidely. “I don’t know your name, but I do know there are far too many of you and you can barely feed all those mouths.” _

_ Ron’s face had contorted in anger and he attacked Draco, striking him repeatedly about the face and kicking his torso until he passed out. _

_ When he had come to the second time, the shack had been empty and Draco tried to figure out where he was. Unfortunately, the one window was covered with linen and there was very little light, so he could not see out. However, he deduced from the quality of what little light there was and the sounds around him that he was somewhere in the woods. _

_ It was near dark and almost all of the light had faded from the shack when the Weasley man returned, holding a lantern aloft. He splashed water from a bladder on Draco’s face and poured a small amount into his mouth, which the blond man swallowed gratefully.  _

_ “Hello, Weasel,” Draco slurred around his swollen jaw. “Mind telling me why I’m here?” _

_ “I suppose I owe you that much,” he laughed. “It’s quite simple, really. I discovered, quite by a fortunate accident, that you have been fucking my woman.” _

_ “I beg your pardon?” Draco stuttered, astonished. _

_ “Hermione,” Ron clarified, with an exasperated tone that indicated it must be obvious. _

_ “Hermione?” Draco repeated. “What…?” His mind struggled to make the connection; he was certain Hemione was not courting any other men. She had certainly never mentioned any of the Weasleys, and neither had her parents. _

_ “Are you quite mad?” Draco managed. “I’m not…” he struggled to repeat the crude terminology Weasley had used. It was unbecoming for a Malfoy to speak so basely. “I’m not fucking Hermione. I’m courting her. I would never—!” _

_ “Oh, shut it, Malfoy,” Ron interrupted. “I know what you rich bastards are like, fucking everyone and everything in sight. Why, I bet you fuck your horses and your sheep.” _

_ Draco was rendered mute with shock. Surely this man was stark raving mad and most likely dangerous, too. He would have to tread carefully. _

_ “You’re mistaken, Weasley,” he countered. “I do not, and have never performed such a perverted act. Nor has anyone in my family. Furthermore, I was not aware you had any claim to Hermione or any other woman in the village.” _

_ “Well, now you know,” Ron shrugged. _

_ “So now I know, you can release me,” Draco ordered. _

_ “Not a chance,” Ron laughed. “I can’t have you running back to your parents and informing on me. No, you’ll remain here as surety, to make sure Hermione behaves. I’ve already had to dispose of her parents. They didn’t take kindly to me, I could tell. Her father would not order her to court me - only a weak man is unable to control his daughter.” _

_ Draco wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly. “What do you mean, you disposed of them?” He asked carefully. _

_ “They were a barrier standing in the way of our love,” Ron answered. “I made it quick. They didn’t suffer… much.” He smiled cruelly. _

_ “And what method did you use?” Draco pressed.  _

_ “Arrows,” Ron shrugged. “Through the heart, clean kill. Much like hunting a deer.” _

_ Draco felt he might be sick. He had been very fond of Jean and had grown to respect and like Richard. _

_ “And am I to suffer the same fate, Weasel?” _

_ “The same fate? No. You don’t deserve to die quickly and cleanly. You have sinned, and must suffer the consequences.” _

_ “I see.” Draco nodded slowly. Trying not to show his fear, he added, “How long do you plan to keep me confined?”  _

_ “No idea. Probably just until I get bored with you.” He looked around the room, which had grown dark, and abruptly made for the door. “See you, Malfoy.” Ron had walked out without a backwards glance, leaving Draco alone with the night. _

Now, Draco was being kicked awake roughly. It was pitch dark, except for the lantern Weasley had brought with him. He shone it in Draco’s face, robbing him of what little sight he had left as the light blinded him.

“I have news,” Ron stated baldly.

“You’ve taken leave of the last of your senses?” Draco guessed. 

His jibe earned him another vicious kick in the side, and he heard a crack as one of his ribs snapped. 

“No, pig. It’s good news, and I hope you will give me your sincere congratulations.”

Draco waited silently, waiting for Ron to spit out whatever it was he had come to announce.

“Hermione is now my wife,” Ron said, without preamble. “The minster performed the ceremony just this afternoon.”

It took all Draco’s willpower to prevent his expression from betraying the violent twist his heart had given at this revelation. He would not give this madman the satisfaction of revealing his pain.

He had, of course, hoped to wed Hermione himself. In fact, on the day he had been attacked, he had planned to invite the Grangers to dinner at his home so their families could meet.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Draco said softly, trying to keep his voice even. “I would offer you my hand, but alas, you have bound them.”

“I wouldn’t touch you anyway,” Ron sneered. “I just wanted you to know that you lost, and I won. I’ve just finished consummating the marriage, and I was surprised and pleased to discover that you hadn’t sullied her. I very much enjoyed taking her maidenhead. Her cunt was...pleasing.”

Draco flinched at Ron’s vulgarity. A man who would speak of the marriage act and of the woman he claimed to care for in such a way was, in Draco’s opinion, not a man at all.

Ron saw the flinch and laughed. “Oh yes, I bet it burns you to know my cock was inside her instead of yours.” He leaned forward as if to impart important information, and the light of the lantern turned his face into a grotesque mask as he smiled. “But I think you will be grateful I have taken her from you, considering what I know.”

“And what do you know?” Draco asked, understanding that Weasley was expecting him to and likely wouldn’t let up until he did.

“She’s a witch!” Ron crowed gleefully. “And so was her mother! Evil incarnate, the both of them!”

Draco scoffed in disbelief. The Weasel was even more mad than he could have thought possible. How did no one around him notice? 

“Don’t be a fool,” Draco snorted. “Hermione is not a witch, and neither was Jean.”

“Oh, but they were!” argued Ron. “I saw them myself, casting their vile spells! After I killed the father, they used some sort of sorcery to slow my arrows, and then to make themselves vanish!”

“No one can slow arrows or vanish, Weasley,” Draco sighed. “Perhaps the truth is your arrows were not as true as you believed them to be and the women moved too quickly for you to track their whereabouts.”

Ron delivered another blow to Draco’s side, and he felt a sharp pain inside himself.

“Do not question what I saw, or my marksmanship!” Ron snarled. “My eyes are keen and I am the best bowman in the village! I managed to catch the mother through the back despite her magic, and I tell you, Hermione is a witch!”

“Are you not afraid she’ll turn her sorcery on you?” Draco reasoned, trying a different tactic.

“Not without her instrument of evil, she won’t,” Ron replied with confidence. “I took the sticks she and her mother used and cast them deep into the trees where no one will find them, and I will keep her quiet with regular doses of laudanum.”

“Laudanum?” Draco frowned. He knew it was an addictive substance and dangerous. His grandfather, Abraxas, had succumbed to its grip and spent his days in a stupor, until one day he had ingested too great an amount and failed to wake again. Draco had been a mere babe at the time, but his father had regularly warned him growing up of its seductive and damaging pull.

“Too much will cause her to be dependent on it, and an incorrectly judged dose could kill her!” Draco said desperately.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Ron replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m not  _ stupid _ , you know.”

“How did you even afford to buy it?” Draco questioned. “Laudanum does not come cheap. It seems to me that such a substance would be more than you could afford.”

Ron glared at the reference to his lack of means, then grinned again.

“You’re right, it  _ is _ costly. But the rings you were wearing fetched me a good price, enough to buy ample supplies.”

Draco moved his fingers as much as the bindings at his wrists would allow. His rings were indeed gone.

“Well, I should be getting back to my wife,” Ron leered. 

“Weasley,” Draco spoke as Ron reached the door.

The redheaded man stopped, but did not turn around.

“How long have I been here?” Draco had tried to work it out himself, but it had proved impossible.

“About four days now,” Ron answered casually.

“May I have some water before you go?”

Ron sighed. “You ask a great deal of me. But, I suppose I must. I can’t have you dying of such a simple thing as  _ thirst _ before I’m ready for you to leave this world.” 

Walking back over to his prone form, Ron poured blessedly cool water into Draco’s mouth.

“And now I really must take my leave,” Ron smiled with an air of regret. “I’ll be back though. I hope to soon be able to tell you that I have planted a child in her belly… if you live that long.”

Draco watched him go, a mixture of hatred and hopelessness filling his chest. 


	6. Chapter 6

Bellatrix Black had been travelling for several days, and knew not how much further she had to go.

She did not know where the Grangers lived - only that they had travelled for a day to reach Stonehenge.

When she had encountered the small family, Bellatrix had seen a fiery dark spirit in Hermione that reminded her of her younger self. Something inside her had sensed that the girl might need more protection than what her parents had bestowed upon her with their ritual, and so she had surreptitiously cast a tracking spell on Hermione before she had left their camp in the early hours of that morning, borrowing Jean’s wand to do it.

Later that same evening, Bellatrix sensed something was wrong. She knew immediately something had befallen the Grangers as they travelled home, although there was no way of knowing the extent of the trouble.

Still, she knew Hermione was still alive and in great danger. Stopping only to gather what few belongings she had, Bellatrix had set out immediately, following the faint pull from the tracking spell and hoping that she would not arrive too late.   
  


* * *

  
Hermione awoke suddenly. It was dark, and there was a body on top of her, forcing her legs apart. Instinctively, she struggled and tried to push him off.  


“Keep still, bitch!,” growled Ron. “You’ll do your duty, or so help me I’ll burn your parents’ bodies in the yard!”

Hermione ceased her movements immediately and winced as the man she had been forced to marry pushed himself inside her once more.

“I’ve just been to see your previous suitor, to inform him of our happy news,” Ron panted as he thrust above her. “His face is not pretty as it used to be, and he’s positively filthy. I doubt you would want him now.”

Hermione stayed silent, but for the tears that escaped and ran down her cheeks. Poor Draco! She was so terribly afraid for him, but she couldn’t think of a way to escape and find him, especially since it seemed Ron intended to keep her dosed with laudanum or bound as often as possible.

“Answer me, woman! Would you want him now?” Ron’s hand closed on her throat and squeezed, causing Hermione to gasp for air as he continued to pound into her.

“N-no…” she rasped, struggling to speak over the pressure on her windpipe.

“Good. Good.” Ron did not release his hand, but only squeezed harder. Hermione’s head began to swim from lack of oxygen, and her small hands beat at his large one to no avail.

“Yes, that’s right. Know how much power I have over you,” Ron grunted. “I could kill you at any time. Just remember that.” His thrusts become more desperate and erratic, and soon he groaned as he took his pleasure from her unwilling body.

He rolled off her and, fumbling in the dark, found her wrists and bound them with cloth. “Can’t have you sneaking off into the night, my love,” he chuckled as he pulled at the fastenings to check they were secure, before moving to her feet and binding her ankles as well.

“Sleep well,” Ron murmured, kissing her cheek tenderly. He arranged the blankets over them both, rolled over, and went to sleep, leaving Hermione lying wakeful and despairing in the inky dark.

  
  


The next morning, as promised, Ron allowed Hermione to bury her parents. He even went as far as to help her dig the graves, although he left her to wash and wrap their bodies. They had been dead nearly three days, and their skin had turned sallow and begun to blacken and swell, while their eyes had sunken into their sockets.

Hermione sobbed as Richard and Jean’s bodies within their shrouds were rolled into their final resting places. She wailed as the dirt was pushed over top and pressed down. She lay, broken, on top of the mounds and whispered to them how much she loved and missed them. In her head - so Ron, hovering nearby, would not hear - she vowed she would avenge them both, or die trying.  _ I promise you both, even if it takes me a lifetime of waiting, I will bide my time and Ron Weasley will die screaming.  
_ __   


* * *

Over the next few days, a routine developed. 

Ron would wake in the morning, force himself upon her, and then demand she cook him breakfast. 

Then he would dose her with laudanum and leave her alone in the house for several hours, binding her wrists and ankles and leaving her up in the loft as an additional precaution.

This second method of imprisonment had occurred the day after she had buried her parents when she had nearly been discovered by a man looking for the missing Malfoy heir.

Hermione had known that such an event was inevitable, but it seemed Ron had not. 

Hermione had been sitting quietly in the loft, floating gently under the effects of the drug Ron had forced upon her earlier that morning, when a loud knocking suddenly sounded at the door. She turned her head towards the noise, registering that another person was present and trying to break through the fog that clouded her mind.

“Hello! Is anyone at home?” He shouted.

Hermione’s lips moved as she tried to call out. “Please… please help me,” she whispered sluggishly. She sobbed softly in frustration as her very voice betrayed her, keeping her imprisoned and hidden just as surely as the drug and the ties that bound her wrists.

Instead, she willed the visitor to turn the latch and come in, to explore the house so that they might discover her. Her hopes were soon dashed when she heard Ron outside,  _ hallooing _ to the visitor. Faintly, she heard the hum of a brief conversation before silence once again fell.

After a few minutes, the sound of the door opening heralded Ron’s approach, and she trembled in fear as his footsteps drew nearer to where she lay helpless.

“Well, well, well. It appears the Malfoys have not yet given up their search,” he said, that biting dog grin making another appearance.

“What did you tell them?” She asked, slowly. The laudanum tended to muddy her speech, and she had to carefully enunciate her words in order to be understood.

“I told them you and your parents have been away for several days and had entrusted me, a dear family friend, to the care and maintenance of the homestead in your absence,” Ron replied with a shrug. “Most regrettably, I have not laid eyes on young Master Malfoy during all the days I have been here.”

Hermione cursed inwardly as her slow thoughts processed the information. Ron had managed to weave a web of deceit, and it was unlikely the visitor would return anytime soon. She would have to find another way.

In the evenings, Ron would have her cook him another meal and, when he had finished, would use her body again. Often in the evenings, during the act, he would strangle or strike her, deriving sexual pleasure from causing her physical pain.

On the fourth morning after she had buried her parents, Ron left after he had eaten, dosed her and taken his pleasure, declaring he must venture into the village and expected to be absent for most of the day.

“Don’t run away now, my love,” Ron laughed at his jibe as he shut the door behind him.

Hermione knew it had been four mornings because she had taken to making a small scratch on the base of the headboard near the mattress, every day. She had managed to prise a screw from the bed base loose on the evening she had buried her parents, at a time where Ron had been busy outside and the effects of the laudanum had almost worn off, leaving her more lucid and freely able to move about.

She did not know how long she had been lying there when she heard a soft sound. It was so stealthy Hermione thought she must have imagined it - perhaps the drug was causing her to hear things that weren’t there?

Then the sound came again, and Hermione’s heart began to pound. Whatever or whoever it was, she knew she would have no chance of protecting herself should they mean her harm. 

The scrape of soft footsteps drifted up to where she lay, and Hermione knew the maker of the sound was in the house. Trembling in fear, she waited as the footsteps began to ascend the steps, watching the landing.

Black, bushy, curly hair came into view and Hermione frowned as something tugged at her memory.  _ Damn this vile concoction! _ She cursed as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Moments later, the face beneath the hair came into view, and Hermione gasped as the recognition clicked fully into place.

“B-Bellatrix? How—?”

The witch reached the top of the landing and rushed to Hermione, tugging at the cloth binding her wrists. “Nevermind that now! What has that vile dog done to you?” She hissed. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead,” Hermione sobbed. “Oh, Bellatrix, he killed them!”

“The whoremonger!” She spat. “Why do you speak that way? Are you under the effects of a potion?”

“He gives me laudanum,” Hermione explained carefully. “It makes me sluggish. He uses it to keep me contained.”

“Where is your wand?” Bellatrix asked.

“I don’t know,” whispered Hermione, as a tear rolled from her eye. “He told me he threw it in the woods, along with Mother’s, but I could not possibly guess at where they might be.”

Bellatrix was silent, thinking. “There may be a way I can find them. It will require me to probe into the depths of your mind to see your memories and thoughts.”

“Do it,” Hermione replied, firmly. “If there is even the slightest chance, you must do it.”

“The experience will cause you pain,” Bellatrix warned. “It is a spell usually conducted using a wand, and even so, it is an unpleasant and invasive sensation for the subject. I can do it wandlessly, but it is clumsy and hard to control this way.”

“Do it,” Hermione repeated.

“Very well. Look into my eyes,” Bellatrix instructed. Concentrating, she placed a hand on Hermione’s forehead and spoke. “ _ Legilimens!” _

Hermione whimpered as cold, cold hands suddenly flowed into her mind, squeezing, probing. Visions flashed before her eyes. The last time she had seen Draco. The ceremony at Stonehenge. Talking with her parents and Bellatrix around the campfire. The pain in her head intensified and she cried out, wanting to tell Bellatrix to  _ stop _ , it was too much and she couldn’t bear it.

The visions came on, faster and faster. The ride home. Her father falling, an arrow through his heart. Her and Jean, Disillusioning themselves and trying to escape. Jean dying in Hermione’s arms, the red tipped arrow jutting from her stomach. The forced marriage to Ron and the repeated violations of her body and spirit.

The cold, squeezing hands suddenly withdrew and Hermione sobbed, desperately trying not to vomit.

“I’m sorry,” Bellatrix apologised. “for having to do that to you, and for what you’ve suffered. You will have the revenge you seek. I am confident I can find the wands.”

“Why have I suffered so, Bellatrix? I thought the spell was intended to stop Ron from being able to cause me harm. I don’t understand!”

“Enchantments rarely last past the death of the caster. They could not have anticipated the loathsome bastard would target them both before you.” Bellatrix replied sorrowfully, before looking resolutely at Hermione. ”I will protect you now. I will retrieve the wands and free you, and then you will have your revenge.”

“Be careful of Ron,” Hermione warned. “He won’t hesitate to kill you if he discovers you.”

“He won’t find me,” Bellatrix promised. “I shall return as soon as I can.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Hermione with renewed hope and a burning desire to lay waste to everything Ron held dear.

  
  


Several hours later, Hermione heard Ron returning. Cursing, she realised the cloth around her hands was loose from Bellatrix attempting to free her.

There was no way for her to make it look secure, so she resigned herself to the fact he would probably beat her. There was no hope that he would simply fail to notice. Ron had an uncanny knack for noticing small details, so it was near impossible to deceive or misdirect him.

He came stomping up the stairs. 

“I’m back, my love! Did you miss me?” 

He moved over to her and leaned forward to kiss her mouth, causing Hermione to shiver with revulsion. Leaning back, Ron appraised her carefully. He glanced down at her hands and frowned.

“What’s this?” He asked, tugging at the slack bonds. “You should know better than to act without my permission.”

“My wrists were causing me pain,” she lied. “You bound me too tightly, and I feared my fingers would drop off. I moved my hands in the hope it would bring me some relief.”

“I think you were trying to escape,” Ron countered, glaring at her suspiciously.

“No, Ronald, not at all,” Hermione argued. “I tell you truly, I wished only to bring some feeling back to my hands.”

Ron gathered her hands, still bound, in his, examining them. “You know what?” He asked, his voice soft and dangerous. “I think you are being false.”

With a sudden and vicious movement, Ron seized two of her fingers and bent them back, snapping the bones. 

Hermione screamed so loud she felt her throat would tear and looked at her mangled fingers in horror. “Please,” she croaked. “Please, Ronald, I’m sorry. I beg you—”

Her pleas were cut short as the cruel man drove his fist into her stomach. Hermione gasped, desperately trying to draw air into her lungs. Spots rose before her eyes and she felt on the verge of passing out.

“I’m going to leave you alone for awhile, to think about the consequences of your actions,” Ron smiled, patting her lovingly on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little while, and we’ll resume our talk.”   
  


* * *

Hermione heard Ron leave through her haze of pain. A short while later, the front door opened again and she let out an involuntary sob. Had he returned to punish her further?

In the fading light, she saw first Bellatrix’s hair and then the witch herself appear. The dark-haired woman grinned in triumph, holding the two wands aloft.

“Oh, Bellatrix, you’ve done it,” Hermione cried. “You wonderful, amazing woman!”

“I could not have found them without your memories,” Bellatrix replied. “Even so, it is great luck that I was able to recover them. I was able to sense your mother’s wand, but only because I had used it before.”

“You—” Hermione was struggling to concentrate through the pain in her stomach and hand. “—you used mother’s wand? When?”

“I’ll tell you everything soon enough,” Bellatrix reassured her. “But first, we must free you.”

Waving Jean’s wand, she removed the bindings from Hermione’s wrists. “Where are you injured?” she asked. 

Hermione held up her hand and Bellatrix growled. “He is truly a monster.” She examined the fingers. “ _ Episkey.”  _

Hermione jumped as the bones in her fingers repaired themselves, returning to their natural position. “Thank you,” she sighed, flexing the digits. 

Lifting her soiled and filthy dress, she examined the bruise that was beginning to form where Ron had punched her. Bellatrix cast the spell again, removing both the external and internal bruising.

“Help me stand,” Hermione instructed. 

When she had been righted, she stripped off her clothing and cast a  _ Scourgify  _ charm over herself, humming in satisfaction as grime, dirt and bodily fluids were cleansed from her battered body.

“Ronald could return at any time,” Hermione worried as she rushed to a chest where she knew clean clothes lay. “We must hurry.”

“Hurry?” Snorted Bellatrix. “Why? We have wands.”

“I know, but we don’t want to arouse his suspicions until it is too late for him to react,” Hermione explained. “He is very quick to notice anything out of place, and I am certain if he senses anything amiss he will retreat.”

“Very well,” Bellatrix nodded. “Dress, and we will wait.”   
  


* * *

Ron entered the shack where he had kept Draco Malfoy prisoner for just over a week.

His rival was very weak, since he’d had no food and only an occasional drink of water since his capture. Ron had also beaten him several times, as well. He no longer moved when Ron would enter and rarely responded to his jibes or strikes.

Ron thought it was quite likely Draco would die soon, and he wanted to be there to watch. He wanted Hermione to see the light leave Draco’s eyes — she needed to see what would happen to anyone who tried to take her away from him. 

If he hoped to achieve that, Ron supposed he would need to bring Hermione here soon, certainly in the next day or so. He thought the timing was quite fortunate given her deception earlier today. Being forced to watch Malfoy die would be a fitting punishment for her attempted escape and lies.

“Wake up, louse,” Ron snarled, kicking Draco in the back.

Draco only grunted and groaned. “Weasley… you bastard.”

“I’m going to bring Hermione to you very soon,” Ron said with false kindness. “You should be grateful I’m going to let you farewell her.”

“...Hermione?” Draco croaked, glancing up.

“Yes,” Ron smiled. “She can watch you die, and I suppose she’ll weep over your worthless corpse, but she will still be my wife, and you will be maggot-food, and I’ll have won.”

“Fuck you, Weasel,” Draco coughed. 

Ron simply laughed. “No, thanks,” he replied. “You may desire to bugger other men, you perverted dog, but the only person who is going to get fucked is Hermione… and she’ll get fucked by me.”

With that, he closed the door behind him and left the shack, a smirk on his face.   
  


* * *

Hermione heard the sound of Ron returning and positioned herself so that she would be hidden from view by the opening door. She nodded to Bellatrix, who waved Jean’s wand above her head and immediately began to disappear from view.

Ron came through the door and headed immediately for the steps, charging his way up to the loft.

“What in seven hells…?” Came Ron’s outraged shout, and within moments he was tearing back down the steps, his face contorted with rage in the pale light of the fire.

Hermione stepped into view. “Hello,  _ husband,” _ she said, voice dripping with venom. “Welcome home.”

Ron stopped short, staring at her in confusion. “How did you—?  _ Sorceress! _ ”

Hermione pointed her wand at him, and Ron’s eyes widened. “ _ Incarcerous.” _ Ropes shot from the tip and he was suddenly bound to a chair.

Moving towards him slowly, wand extended, Hermione smiled. “How does it feel to be restrained, Ronald? To be afraid?”

Glaring at her, Ron strained at the ropes. “Fuck you, whore!” He spat. “I’ll get loose, and then you’ll be sorry!” He stopped as a thought occurred to him. “If you don’t let me go, your love will die alone. Only I know where he is.”

“You will tell me where he is!” Hermione snarled, digging her wand into Ron’s neck.

“Not a chance,” Ron scoffed. “You’ll never make me speak.”

Hermione laughed. “Never make you speak? Don’t be so sure.” She nodded to a corner of the room, which appeared empty.

“Perhaps I cannot make you speak, but my friend can. Bella, dear, come and meet my darling husband.”

Ron’s eyes grew as big as saucers as a dark-haired woman suddenly materialised in the seemingly empty corner of the room.

“That trickery!” He hissed. “Another witch! You may be able to appear and disappear at will, devil’s minion, but an arrow will still give you a mortal wound!”

“And how do you intend to put an arrow in me, bound as you are?” Bellatrix cackled. “Hark him, Hermione! He’s truly a fool to threaten two witches in his position.”

“He’s always been a fool,” Hermone agreed. “Arrogant, spoilt, and vain.”

“Now, I think we should make him speak the whereabouts of my nephew,” Bellatrix suggested. “And quickly.”

“I told you, I will not speak!” Ron snarled, spitting at their feet.

“Oh, you’ll speak.” Bellatrix smiled coldly and pointed Jean’s wand at Ron. “ _ Legilimens.” _

Hermione watched in fascination as Ron writhed and struggled against the ropes while Bellatrix invaded his mind.

Soon, she pulled back, nodding with satisfaction. “I have the location,” she confirmed. “He calls me the devil’s minion, but if the devil truly exists, it is he.”

Ron shuddered before vomiting over himself, groaning quietly.

“You have killed before. A girl,” Bellatrix continued flatly, staring at Ron, and Hermione gasped. “She was only fourteen summers. A mere child. She would not allow you to take her, so you strangled her in a rage.”

“It is you who are evil!” Hermione hissed, pointing at Ron, who stared at her with unfocused eyes.

“Draco is dying,” Bellatrix told Hermione. “I have seen it in this one’s mind.”

“No, no,” Hermione shook her head in denial. “He can’t die! He mustn’t! Show me where. We will go to him at once and heal him!” 

“We’ll need horses. It is deep in the woods,” the dark-haired witch explained.

“This way,” commanded Hermione, leading the way towards the door. 

As they crossed the threshold, Bellatrix turned and pointed her newly acquired wand once more at Ron. “ _ Supefy.”  _ His body slumped bonelessly within its confines, and the witches left.

Hermione stepped into the barn, Bellatrix close behind. Ther noses were immediately assailed by the smell of decay. Lifting the lantern she held higher and covering her nose, Hermione searched for the source of the stench.

She soon found it and began to cry softly. Grindelwald lay dead in a stall, his once proud form slumped on the cold ground. “This was Draco’s horse,” she told Bellatrix softly. “The man is so cruel, he could not even spare an innocent animal from his jealousy.” 

Venturing further into the barn, she found only Mordred. With Bellatrix helping, she quickly harnessed the pony to the cart. She tried not to look at the bloodstains that remained on the seat and dripping down the sides. With the barn doors opened and both women aboard, Hermione snapped the reins and they were off.

Following Bellatrix’s directions, they were soon forced to stop in a place where the trees closed in around them.

“We must leave the cart here,” Bellatrix said. “The trail is too narrow for any but those on foot or horseback.”

With only the lantern for light in the darkness, the women stumbled along the trail. Not knowing her way, Hermione wondered if they might walk forever.

After an unknown length of time, a clearing suddenly appeared, and in its centre sat a shack in poor repair. The one window they could see was covered, boards and tiles were missing, and the roof sagged on one side.

“He’s in there?” Hermione whispered to Bellatrix.

“He is,” she replied.

The witches hurried over to the small building and pushed open the door, scanning the empty interior.

Spying a hump in one corner, Hermione called uncertainly, “...Draco?”

The bundle seemed to move, but did not respond. Hermione and Bellatrix rushed over to the still shape. 

“Draco! Wake up! It’s me, my love! It’s Hermione!” The distraught witch took Draco’s battered and filthy hand, holding it to her face as she sobbed. “Please, please wake up!”

Draco stirred, and cracked open the one eye which still afforded him some vision.

“...Hermione? Am I dreaming?”

“No, my darling. You’re not dreaming. I’m here.” She pushed his blond hair gently away from his face, so that he might see her better.

Bellatrix sank to the floorboards beside Hermione, examining the man’s face in the pale light of the lantern. It was as battered and bruised as the rest of him, with one eye swollen shut and a sunken cheekbone which indicated the bone was broken. He breathed raggedly, shallowly.

“You look so like Cissa,” she observed sadly.

“Who...?” Draco asked, peering confusedly at the strange woman beside Hermione.

“Draco, my love, this is Bellatrix,” Hermione smiled. “She is your mother’s sister.”

“Bellatrix?” Draco echoed in confusion. 

“We need to get him away from this place,” Bellatrix stated. “He is worsening quickly.”

“Can he be saved?” Hermione asked fearfully.

“I do not know. I will need to run some diagnostic spells,” Bellatrix sighed.

“How will we get him to the cart?” Hermione worried. “I’m still weak from that bastard’s abuse. I cannot possibly carry him far.”

“Weasley..?” Draco croaked. “He… you escaped?”

“Yes,” was all Hermione said in response.

“You must—” Draco swallowed, his mouth trying to form the words around his swollen tongue. “You must flee.”

“Oh, we are in no danger from Ronald,” Hermione said, with a knowing smile. “Here. You must drink.” Without another thought, she pulled out her wand and conjured a stream of water into Draco’s mouth.

The blond man’s eyes widened, although he drank down the cool liquid gratefully.

“Then... it’s true?” He asked when his thirst had been quenched. “You are a witch?”

“Bellatrix and I both, but this is neither the time nor place to explain.” she turned to Bellatrix. “Bella, how will we get him to the cart?”

Bellatrix pointed her wand at Draco. “ _ Levicorpus.”  _ Draco rose into the air, as light as a feather. “Hermione, you must open the door and then light my way,” she instructed.

Hermione ran forward to comply and led the small party back to the cart. Bellatrix lowered Draco gently into the flatbed of the cart and the women clambered aboard. Snapping the reins once more, they headed for home.


	7. Chapter 7

When they arrived back at the homestead, Ron was still unconscious. 

Using the same levitating spell, Bellatrix brought Draco inside and gently laid him on Hermione’s bed in her old chamber, making him as comfortable as possible. She healed his face as best she could, then ran her wand over him, muttering spells.

“How severe are his injuries?” Hermione asked, her heart in her throat.

Bellatrix shook her head in resignation. “It seems unlikely he will survive. His wounds are too great, and he has been without food and water for too long. There is a great deal of infection from his internal injuries.”

Hermione ran to the prostrate man and laid her head on his chest, sobbing. “I can’t lose you, too,” she cried. 

“Best leave him to rest,” Bellatrix urged kindly. “The exertions of the evening have exhausted him, and he may not wake again for some time.”

Sitting up, Hermione’s eyes blazed with anger, and she felt the darkness which had been building inside her since her parents had been murdered and Ron had imprisoned her flare to life.

She stalked out of the room and over to Ron, Bellatrix following, and slapped him hard across the face. He grunted but did not wake.

“Revive him,” she ordered.

Bellatrix aimed her wand. “ _ Rennervate.”  _

Ron stirred and looked around in confusion. “What in God’s name?” He muttered. His eyes met Hermione’s, then Bellatrix’s, and he glared.

“You whores of Satan are still here?” He asked incredulously. “Release me at once!”

Bellatrix laughed. “Foolish muggle! Do you truly not realise the position you’re in? You are bound, and we have wands.”

“Speaking of which, Bella,” Hermione interrupted. “I am still most curious to know how you came to find me. “

“Oh, yes. I sensed you may have further trouble with this one—” she indicated Ron with a jerk of her head. “When you and your parents slept, I borrowed your mother’s wand to cast a tracking charm over you, one that would alert me if you were in danger and help me to find you. The same day you left, I sensed something had happened. I left Stonehenge right away.”

“And you travelled all this way on foot?” Hermione asked in amazement.

“Yes. With no wand of my own, Apparition was too great a risk. I did not want to splinch myself. It is why it took me so long to reach you.”

Ron, who had been following the conversation, let out an amused bark. “It would figure you evil creatures would have a way to track each other.”

“Shut up!” Hermione snarled. 

“I won’t!” Ron said defiantly.

“Then we’ll make you!” Bellatrix retorted.  _ “Crucio!”  _

Ron let loose a blood-curdling scream and bucked at the ropes that still bound him.

“Is that the spell that was used against you in your tale?” Hermione asked in wonder. 

“The Cruciatus Curse, yes,” Bellatrix confirmed.

A wicked grin spread across Hermione’s features. “You must let me try it.”

Bellatrix nodded and showed her the wand movement.

Hermione aimed at Ron. “ _ Crucio.” _ To her dismay, her tormentor merely cried out.

“You need to  _ mean _ it, girl!” Bellatrix urged. “You need to really want to cause pain, to  _ enjoy  _ it! Righteous anger won’t hurt him for long.”

Steeling herself, Hermione reached into her recent memories, letting them flow through her veins. Her father. Her mother. The repeated beatings and violations. Draco, dying in the next room. 

She fed these memories to the dark flame inside her as one feeds kindling onto a small fire, so that it might grow larger and burn hotter.

Straightening her shoulders, she tried again. “ _ Crucio!” _

This time, Ron let loose another scream, louder and more desperate than when Bellatrix had cast the curse. When she released it, his eyes rolled back and his head flopped loosely on his shoulders, a stream of spittle dripping from his mouth.

Bellatrix cackled in delight and hopped around in mad glee.

“Well  _ done _ , Hermione! Brilliantly cast!”

Hermione smiled, her eyes hooded. “That felt  _ good _ . Can I do it again?”

“Well, that depends,” Bellatrix considered, her head tilted to one side. “How long do you wish to keep him alive?”

Tapping her wand thoughtfully against her thigh, Hermione mused, “Well, I did vow that he would die screaming, but I also vowed to lay waste to everything he holds dear.”

“In that case, I would let him rest. He is only a Muggle; his body will not stand up to repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse for long.”

“Very well,” Hermione sighed, sitting down. “Tell me how you came to know this curse. Do you know any others?”

“I know a great deal of dark magic,” confessed Bellatrix, joining Hermione at the table. “Do you remember the my tale of how Augusta was taken from me?”

Hermione nodded.

“I did not tell the whole story. It is true enough that the group of witches and wizards left me for dead, but I did not simply crawl away like a whipped cur.” Bellatrix’s eyes widened and she grinned her mad grin. “I got revenge.”

“Tell me,” urged Hermione, leaning forward. The dark flame inside her burned brighter, hotter. Her wand hand itched. She  _ wanted _ to use dark magic again. It was… intoxicating.

“After I returned to Augusta’s house and found nothing but embers remaining, I ventured back to the building she had taken me to. I watched. Soon, one of them returned. I had no wand, of course, so I had to find another way.”

“How did you manage it?” Hermione inquired.

“I waited until the lights inside were extinguished,” the dark witch continued. “When the hour grew late, I entered the house by stealth and found where he slept. I had taken up a knife from the pantry, and I opened his throat. He drowned in his own blood.”

Hermione hummed in approval. “And the others?”

“I stole his wand and hunted them down, one by one. The first man had quite an extensive library with many books on dark magic. I hid them away, studied them carefully, and learned much. The spells and curses within proved quite useful when I confronted my foes.”

“What became of his wand? Why did you not keep it?”

“I had to dispose of it after I had completed my task. It is possible to put a trace on a person’s wand in order to find them. I could not risk discovery.”

Hermione nodded her understanding. “You must teach me some of this magic,” she pleaded. “Ron must suffer greatly before he dies and see those he loves turn to dust.”

Bellatrix snorted. “I find it hard to believe this man loves anything but himself.”

“He loves his family,” Hermione replied. “Numerous they may be, but they are the one thing that means something to him.”

“Who are they?” Bellatrix asked, intrigued.

“There is his father, Arthur, and his mother, Molly,” Hermione described. “Then his brothers, William, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George - they are twins - and the youngest, his sister - Ginevra.”

“So many!” Bellatrix crowed, delightedly. “What do you want to do to them?”

Hermione thought for awhile. “I think they should die. Ronald has stolen my family from me. It is only fitting I take his from him.”

“And how will they perish?” 

“That I do not know,” Hermione sighed. “As satisfying it would be to slay them as he watched, it doesn’t quite seem to fit the level of punishment I wish to subject him to.”

Bellatrix thought for a few moments, then grinned wickedly. “What if they all died by Ron’s hand?”

Hermione’s eyes lit up.  _ “I love that idea!”  _ she hissed. Her face fell. “But he would never do such a thing.”

“Not willingly, at least,” Bellatrix agreed. “But you could compel him. He would not be able to prevent himself from bending to your will.”

“How do I do it, Bella? Show me the spell!” Hermione pleaded.

“It is called the Imperius Curse,” Bellatrix imparted. “When successfully cast, the person is fully under your control. You can suggest they dance a jig, run a league without stopping, or even make them plunge a dagger into their own heart, and they will do it without hesitation.” 

Standing, she pointed her wand at Ron, who held a tenuous grip on consciousness. 

“Watch my movements.” she said to Hermione. “You must concentrate, and point your wand directly at the target. You will feel their mind open up to you.”

Hermione nodded, observing carefully.

“ _ Imperio.” _

Ron’s head lifted. Hermione noticed his expression was relaxed, with a vague smile and slightly unfocused eyes. 

“Ronald.” Bellatrix spoke.

“Yes,” intoned Ron, in a dreamy voice quite unlike his usual one.

“Go outside and leap up onto the roof from the ground.” She released the ropes that bound the man, allowing him to stand.

Without another word, Ron walked outside, Hermione and Bellatrix following.

Hermione watched curiously as Ron bent his knees, and then with an almighty jump, landed on the roof as quietly and gracefully as a cat. Hermione gasped in amazement.

“How perfectly brilliant!” She exclaimed. “You must let me try!”

After commanding Ron to return to the ground and reenter the house, Bellatrix released him.

The redheaded man shook a little and clarity came back into his eyes, along with rage. He had only enough time to advance a single step toward the witches before Hermione whipped her wand out and cast the curse.

“ _ Imperio!” _

Ron stopped short, and the same dreamy, vacant expression came over his face.

“Ronald,” commanded Hermione. “Stand on your head.”

In a few short seconds, Ron was perfectly balanced on his head in the middle of the room, his feet waving gently in the air. Turning to Bellatrix, she asked, “Will he feel pain while under my influence?”

“If you have cast it effectively, he will not,” replied Bellatrix. “He will feel pain only when you release him.”

Hermione turned back to Ron.

“Now take up this fork—” she fetched one from the tray where the cutlery sat while not in use “—and drive it into your thigh.”

Ron righted himself, took the fork from her, and viciously stabbed it into the meat of his leg without question. He did not flinch or cry out, nor show any other sign of pain or discomfort. The implement stuck out from his right thigh, quivering slightly.

“He killed my parents with bow and arrow,” Hermione told Bellatrix. “He has often boasted of his bowmanship, and his words are not entirely without merit. He is skilled. I think perhaps he should turn this same skill against his family.”

“How perfectly fitting, Hermione!” Bellatrix grinned, eyes glittering madly. “Do it!”

Hermione turned back to Ron. “Ronald.”

“Yes,” he responded.

“You will take up your bow and arrows,” she instructed. “And you will slay your entire family in their beds.”

Ron made for the door. 

“And remove the fork from your leg,” she called, laughing. 

Ron yanked it out and dropped it on the floor. A small patch of blood bloomed on his trouser leg as he exited the house.

Back in the bedroom, Hermione faintly heard her name being called. She rushed into the small room to find Draco awake, his eyes shifting around the room in search of her.

“Draco, darling, I’m here,” she said softly, caressing his cheek. “You’re feverish,” she worried, feeling the heat which radiated out from his battered body.

_ “Accio  _ washcloth,” she commanded, and the object zipped into her hand.  
  
  
“How did you do that?” Draco asked, smiling slightly as Hermione gently bathed his face.

“Summoning objects is one of the many uses magic has,” Hermione explained.

“Tell me about magic,” Draco urged quietly. “Is it true that you consort with the devil?” He laughed softly at the notion, then winced at the pain the movement caused him.

“Of course not,” Hermione snorted, although she smiled back at him. “There is no evidence to support the idea of a devil, or Satan, or whatever you wish to call him - just as there is no evidence to support the idea of a God. You know perfectly well my opinion on  _ that _ particular matter.”

“I think I recall having discussed it a time or two,” Draco teased. 

“Bella,” Hermione called. “Go into the pantry and remove the wooden chest on the floor under the shelf. You’ll find a small trapdoor under the dirt. Lift it, and fetch me the bottle with the bay leaf tied to it.”

Hermione heard Bellatrix rummaging in the pantry, and after several minutes she entered the room holding the bottle Hermione had requested.

“Thank you, Bella,” she said, taking it and removing the stopper.

“What is that?” Draco asked warily. “Do you intend that I should drink it?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Fear not, it is simply a pain potion. Wizarding medicine,” she stated. “It is far more effective than most Muggle treatments for pain.”

“Muggle?”

“It’s what we call non-magical folk. Now, you must drink.”

Without protest, Draco allowed Hermione to lift his head slightly so he could drink from the bottle, although she did not permit him to take the entire contents.

A look of contentment soon spread over Draco’s features, previously pinched with pain, as the potion began to take effect.

“Astonishing!” He exclaimed. “I barely feel any pain at all. Only slight discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to risk you taking the whole dose,” Hermione explained. “I don’t know enough about the effects of potions on Muggles to be able to judge whether it was safe to do so, so it might not be as effective.”

“I’ve been in almost constant pain since that madman locked me up in that shack,” Draco replied, “so this is a welcome reprieve.”

Looking over Hermione’s shoulder, he smiled at Bellatrix, who was hovering, uncertain, in the doorway. 

“Please come closer,” he invited.

“Come, Bella,” Hermione echoed.

Bellatrix advanced slowly and knelt beside Hermione, reaching up to gently touch Draco’s fine blond hair.

“Hermione called you Bella,” he observed. “Mother called for you once, I think. She was in the grip of a terrible fever and delirious. She kept saying, ‘Run, Bella, run!’ Apart from that one occasion, she never spoke of a second sister, and I never dared ask.”

“I was born a witch,” Bellatrix divulged with a sigh. “I did not know what I was as a child, but strange things no one could explain would happen around me. My parents grew to fear and hate me, thinking I was possessed by the devil. Under the advice of a priest, they planned to kill me after my evil could not be exorcised. My sisters did not want to see me slain, so they helped me escape. I have wandered alone ever since.”

“But how cruel,” frowned Draco.

“Sadly, their reaction is not an uncommon one,” Hermione commented.

“Were your parents… Muggles?” Draco questioned.

“No,” Hermione whispered sadly, a tear ghosting down her cheek. “They were magical, like me.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am to know they were killed,” Draco comforted her, gently squeezing the hand that was clasped in her own. 

“I’m sorry, too,” she sighed. “I miss them both terribly.”

“You were going to tell me more about magic,” Draco prompted, in an attempt to redirect the conversation. “And please, tell me about how you and Aunt Bella met.”

“Oh, of course you’re right,” Hermione smiled. 

Settling down, she began to describe the moment she had discovered she was a witch, all the wonderful, useful things magic could be used for, and how she had come to meet his aunt. She held one of Draco’s hands, and Bellatrix the other, as the night stretched on outside.   
  


* * *

Ron Weasley reached the town and silently crept down the deserted street to his childhood home. He had taken his bow and a quiver of arrows, as instructed.

It was late. The quiet lanes were empty and the houses mostly dark, with only the occasional lonely light burning in a window. 

He was observed by only one person - Horace Slughorn, a retired teacher who was known to be rather fond of wine. Horace frowned slightly to see the Weasley boy carrying his bow with an arrow loosely notched on the string and a quiver with more arrows across his back. 

The older man’s eyes widened in concern as he watched the boy entering his parents’ house stealthily, as if he were in the midst of the hunt. He rushed to the door to follow, a feeling of dread swirling in his gut and making the wine he had imbibed that night turn sour.   
  


* * *

“I’m not going to recover, am I?” Draco asked resignedly.

He had greatly enjoyed hearing Hermione and Bellatrix describe their secrets to him, but it had merely been a distraction — something he had used to put off acknowledging what he already knew to be true — the injuries Ron had inflicted on him, along with the living conditions he had been subjected to during his confinement, had resulted in a death sentence.

Hermione looked tearfully at Bellatrix before turning back to Draco.

“We fear your injuries are too great for you to recover. Even our magic cannot save you, for we are not healers and do not have the skills.”

Draco sighed. “I had so wished to wed you and have children together,” he confessed sadly. “Even after being imprisoned, I held out hope I could escape or be found and eventually recover.”

“I wished the same,” Hermione sobbed. 

Bellatrix spoke up quietly. “There may be a way to keep Draco alive.”

“Then you must tell me!” Hermione insisted. “Whatever it is, I shall do it!”

“It is very dark magic,” Bellatrix warned. “The darkest. You cannot come back from it.”

“Will it allow us to be together?” Draco checked.

“If it were to succeed, yes.” Bellatrix nodded. “But it comes at great risk. If she hesitates or casts the spell incorrectly, you will both perish.”

Hermione looked at Draco. “Could you accept this?”

“Is all dark magic evil?” the blond man fretted.

“Not  _ evil _ , in itself,” Bellatrix clarified. “But cast with ulterior motives which aim to harm or control others; or bring oneself greater power or strength, it can be used to do evil deeds. This spell, however, is most assuredly evil.”

“What will it do to us?” Draco asked. 

“It will split Hermione’s soul and grant her potential immortality,” the dark-haired witch explained, ”and that part of her soul, torn and blackened, will reside within you.”

Draco grimaced. “It sounds incredibly painful.”

“Oh, it is,” Bellatrix affirmed. “Very few wizards or witches have succeeded in completing the ritual. Many die.”

“Tell us about the ritual and what it involves; and how you came to know about it,” decided Hermione.

“I read about it in one of those dark books I described. It was called  _ ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art.’ _ The split off part of a soul is placed into another object, and the object becomes a Horcrux, a piece of incredibly dark magic,” the older witch revealed.

“And you say this act grants the caster immortality?” Hermione checked.

“Only should the vessel which holds the portion of your soul remain intact,” Bellatrix warned. “It can be placed inside a person, but if that person should die, the portion of your soul will also be destroyed, and you will be weakened.”

“How can I achieve this?” Hermione queried.

“Murder,” Bellatrix replied bluntly. “You must kill another without remorse and in cold blood. This tears off a part of your soul, and you must transfer that part into your chosen vessel — in this case, Draco.”

“I know just the person,” Hermione sang, darkness crossing her features. “Come, Bella. Let’s go check on Ronald.”

The two witches stood. “We’ll be back soon,” Hermione reassured Draco. 

Bellatrix took Hermione’s arm, and Draco watched with his mouth open as, with a sharp  _ crack, _ his aunt and the woman he loved swirled away into nothingness.

* * *

Hermione and Bellatrix landed in the shadows on the corner of the lane where the Weasley family lived. 

“This way,” Hermione commanded. She led the way to the house, looking from left to right to ensure they were not being observed. 

She failed to see Slughorn lurking in the shadows of his own home further down, but Slughorn did not fail to see her.

Reaching the door, they quietly entered and began to move through the sprawling, ramshackle dwelling. Entering the first small room off the main living quarters, they found Ginny. An arrow pierced her heart, her blue eyes open and staring.

In the next room, this one slightly larger to accommodate three narrow beds, lay Percy and the twins, Fred and George. The two twins had apparently been slain while still asleep; both of them lay on their backs with the arrows protruding from their torsos.

Percy, on the other hand, appeared to have awoken shortly before Ron had turned his bow on him. The arrow was through his spine; he lay sprawled half in and half out of the bed, as if he had attempted to flee.

Making their way up the narrow staircase, the witches came across a small landing from which two doors led, one on either side. Peering first into the room on the left, they discovered Bill and Charlie, the two oldest Weasley children. Ron’s aim had been off with Charlie; the arrow had struck him in the neck. Bill had been struck in the stomach.

Giggling, Hermione and Bellatrix crossed the landing to investigate the final room, the chamber where Molly and Arthur Weasley surely must have been sleeping.

They found Ron standing silently at the end of the bed, staring blankly at the bodies of his parents, his task complete. Arthur had been struck in the chest, like the others, but Molly, the matriarch and the family member Ron had loved the most, had been struck right between the eyes. A thin line of blood ran down her forehead and onto the pillow beneath.

Pointing her wand at the man who had been the cause of all her grief and pain, Hermione released Ron from the enchantment he had been under. With a shake of his head, he came back to himself, gazing confusedly around the room before noticing his parents’ bodies.

With a wail, he rushed to the side of the bed. “Mum? Dad?” He whispered in horror. “Who did this?”

Glancing down at his hands, Ron gurgled in shock and disgust as he noticed the bow he had been clutching. Dropping it with a strangled cry, he staggered back toward the door.

“You killed them, Ronald,” Hermione said, her voice full of grim satisfaction.

Ron spun around, rage and disbelief showing on his face.

“You!” He hissed. “Witch! Murderer!”

“Me?” Hermione laughed cruelly. “Oh, no, Ronald - this was your doing. They have died by your hand, with your bow. All of them.” 

“All—?” Realisation and fear crossed Ron’s features and he pushed past Hermione and Bellatrix, rushing towards Bill and Charlie’s room. 

“NO!” He roared in anguish as he made the grisly discovery.

Ron tore out of the room and down the stairs, having momentarily forgotten Hermione and Bellatrix, who followed him with glee.

“Fred? George? It can’t be,” Ron gibbered. “Percy? You too?”

Staggering out of the boys’ room, Ron weaved drunkenly towards the space where his sister lay. “Gin! Not you! Not you!” came the broken sob.

Hermione entered the doorway, observing the utterly destroyed man in front of her as he held his sister’s corpse to his body and wept.

“You’ve murdered your entire family, Ron. The same way you murdered mine,” Hermione murmured softly. “You are a monster.”

“But— but how?” Ron stammered. “I remember nothing. I can’t have — I would never — I  _ love  _ them! They’re my family!”

“Now you know how it feels,” she taunted. “You should have left my family and Draco alone.”

“You did this!” Ron keened in his grief. “Somehow,  _ you _ did this!”

“I suppose I do have to accept some involvement,” Hermione nodded. “I put you under a curse and made you kill them all. I told you exactly how to do it, and you followed instructions quite admirably.”

“I’ll kill you where you stand!” Ron roared, leaping to his feet and reaching behind him to draw an arrow from the depleted quiver. His determination turned to dismay when he bought the arrow down to notch, only to find his other hand empty.

“You dropped your bow up in your parents’ room, if you’ll recall,” Hermione informed him, false sorrow in her voice. “You’re utterly powerless, and now it’s time to take your leave. You have one more task to fulfill, and I expect you to perform it to the best of your ability.”

“I’ll not do your bidding!” Ron snarled. 

“Oh, but you will,” Hermione smiled, pointing her wand at him once again. “ _ Imperio.” _

Under her control, Ron followed Hermione back out to the main room. She took hold of Ron’s arm, and Bellatrix took her arm on the opposite side. With another  _ crack,  _ the trio was gone from the house of death the Weasley home had become.   
  


* * *

Horace Slughorn watched in terror and amazement at the scenes unfolding in front of him.

He had quietly moved to the front window after the women had entered the house and peered in, hoping to see signs of movement. After a short time, the Weasley boy had come into view, his bow no longer in his hand, and rushed into a small room off the main living area. Faintly, Slughorn had heard a cry at some discovery within. 

Looking back toward the area where Ron had first emerged, he then observed the two women reappear. Frowning in recognition, Slughorn wondered what the Granger girl was doing there. He did not know the dark haired woman.

The Granger girl and the other woman waited near the table as Ron exited the room he had previously entered and staggered into another. His anguished wails drifted out, making Slughorn shiver. The Granger girl moved to the second doorway for a time, then returned to the main room, Ron following.

Slughorn was baffled by what he saw. Ron now held a vacant, slightly smiling expression quite unlike his earlier apparent distress. The Granger girl took his arm, the dark haired woman took her other, and they vanished into thin air as abruptly as they had appeared in the lane before.

Coming to a decision, Slughorn quickly moved to the door and opened it. He ventured fearfully into one of the rooms. 

“Lord have mercy!” He gasped, staggering back against the wall at the sight of three of the Weasley boys lying in their beds with arrows in their bodies.

He was afraid to look in the next room, knowing what he would find, but forcing his feet to carry him over to the doorway regardless.

“Sweet heavens!” he muttered at the sight of Ginny. Stumbling backwards into the main room, Slughorn glanced up at the narrow stairs leading to the second level, and took a shaky step forward.

“No. I— I can’t—!” he croaked, stumbling over his feet in his haste to reach the front door. What little courage he had utterly shattered, Slughorn raced out the door and up the lane.

“Murder! Murder! Sorcery and witchcraft!” He screamed.

Around him, lights flared to life and doors opened as Slughorn raised the alarm.   
  


* * *

The trio landed in the yard outside the Grangers’ home, and Hermione released Ron’s arm, shoving him away from her. The man stumbled forward, fell on his knees, and vomited.

“Ahh yes, the first apparition,” Bellatrix laughed, jumping back so as not to be splashed with bile. “It seems even being Imperiused is no protection against its effects.”

When Ron had emptied his stomach, Hermione compelled him to rise and follow them into the house.

“Let’s begin,” she said with finality as she shut the door.   
  


* * *

Back in the village, Slughorn was surrounded by disbelieving people. 

“Horace, you’re pissed again,” someone jeered. “Go home and sleep it off.”

“Why did you have to go waking us all from our slumber, shouting nonsense about murder and sorcery?” Asked another disdainfully.

“I speak the truth, I swear it!” Horace babbled. “The entire Weasley family, but for Ron, has been murdered; and Ron himself has been taken by witches! By the Granger girl and one other!”

“Murdered, you say?” Echoed a third person. “What, by the Granger girl? No mere woman could slay an entire family, it’s just not possible!” A murmur of agreement from the others followed this sentiment.

“Go and look for yourselves!” Slughorn insisted, frantically waving at the Weasley house, further back. “I saw the twins and Percy, and sweet young Ginny with my own eyes, but I did not dare venture upstairs to observe the other bodies!”

The townsfolk looked at each other uneasily. 

“Perhaps we  _ should _ investigate, just to be certain,” someone suggested.

The crowd turned and moved quickly towards the Weasley home, pouring through the front door, spreading out,  _ hallooing _ as they entered.

Soon enough, those who entered were staggering out again, whey-faced with shock.

“It’s true!” One of the others exclaimed. “All murdered violently in their beds!”

The townsfolk surged back up to where Slughorn stood waiting. “Tell us, tell us everything!” they chanted. “What did you see, Horace?”

The man told his tale a second time, voice trembling, and the crowd yelled in anger and fear.

“We must kill the witches!” Somebody shouted.

“Yes! Burn them!”

“Tear them limb from limb!”

“Ready your weapons! We must go to the Granger house! Find them!”

Those present dispersed to arm themselves with whatever they could find and came together again, both afoot and ahorse. 

The mob advanced, chanting, “Burn the witches! Brides of Satan have no place here!”   
  


* * *

Hermione had levitated Draco into the main room, laying him gently on the table. Ron was still under the Imperius Curse, swaying gently on his feet as he waited for an instruction.

Bellatrix had carefully instructed Hermione on the method for transferring her fragmented soul into Draco, and she was ready.

“The shock may kill Draco rather than save him,” Bellatrix had warned. “Still, you must act with a sure and firm hand. Do not stall or hesitate.”

Hermione released Ron from the curse once again and allowed him a moment to recognise his surroundings.

“It’s time for your final act of penance, Ronald,” she told him, finality in her voice. “You call me evil, and indeed you have driven me to evil, but you yourself are just as much of a daemon as you accuse me to be.”

“Please—” Ron begged, weeping and pale, his hands held up in supplication. “I’m sorry I killed your parents, I’m sorry I captured and tortured your lover, I’m sorry for forcing you to wed me when you did not love me.” He dropped to his knees and bought his palms together as if in prayer. “Please, have mercy!”

“It will be merciful, which is more than you deserve,” Hermione replied. “But you must die so that Draco may live.” She pointed her wand at Ron a final time. Her hand was steady and her voice strong.

“ __ Avada Kedavra.”  
  


* * *

The mob drew closer, torches lighting their way. Some carried bows and arrows, others sticks, still others pitchforks. The constable held a musket he had inherited from his older brother who had been in the military.

They were led by the minister and sang hymns as they marched. They were certain they were doing their Christian duty, protecting themselves from the evil that threatened them all.   
  


* * *

Hermione felt a great pain within, the sensation of something being forced from deep inside her body. Her head was thrown back as a black fog swirled from her mouth, but still she concentrated. Focusing harder than she ever had before, Hermione cast the movements Bellatrix had shown her. She must get this exactly right.

The fog curled around her head, before suddenly flying at Draco where he lay on the table, watching. He screamed as the fog forced itself into him, flowing into his nostrils, mouth, and even his eyes and ears. His body bucked on the table, and Bellatrix rushed to restrain him, lest he fall.

After a few moments, Draco’s frenzied movements ceased and he was still. 

Bellatrix looked over at Hermione, slumped on the ground and panting with exhaustion. Rushing to her friend, she lifted her face and brushed the hair from her eyes.

“Did it work?” Hermione whispered.

Bellatrix helped Hermione stand, and the two witches advanced slowly to where Draco lay still.

“Draco, my love..?” Hermione said softly, reaching out to touch him.

Draco stirred, blinked his eyes, and sat up slowly.

“My pain is gone,” he said in amazement. “My body feels whole again!”

Indeed, the colour had returned to his face and the numerous bruises and bulges which had previously ravaged Draco’s body had vanished.

“You’ve done it!” Bellatrix squealed with joy. “Sweet Morgana, Hermione, you’ve created a Horcrux!”

“I’ve created a Horcrux,” Hermione repeated in wonder.

“I’ll give the two of you a moment alone,” Bellatrix smiled.

Hermione and Draco embraced passionately, sharing frantic kisses. 

“Oh, my love,” Hermione sighed. “I was so afraid I would lose you!”

“You are one powerful witch,” Draco said proudly. “I find myself quite envious to be a mere Muggle.”

Suddenly, Bellatrix rushed back into the house.

“Quickly! We must go!” She urged. “We are discovered!”

“What?” Hermione said in shock.

“A mob approaches!” Bellatrix cried frantically. “There are too many of them to be able to fight off in your state. Your magic is depleted. We need to run,  _ now! _ ”

Hermione pulled Draco to a standing position. “Follow me!” 

The three ran out of the doorway and into the yard. It was too late. The mob blocked their way.

“Witches!” cried a wavering voice, and Horace Slughorn pushed his way to the front.

“I saw you both arrive in the village and slay the Weasleys, then steal Ron away! You will burn, you bitches!”

“Damn that old drunkard!” Hermione cursed.

“Come and get me, Muggles!” Bellatrix shrieked with mad laughter, waving her wand. 

“ _ Bombarda!” _

Those at the front of the mob were blasted backwards. The minister’s body sailed through the air and struck a tree.

The rest of the mob scattered, a few running away, but most spreading out and closing in. Those with weapons to fire aimed them at Bellatrix, Hermione and Draco.

“Go! Go now! Apparate!” Yelled Bellatrix. “I’ll be right behind you!”

The mob closing in, arrows thrummed and the musket roared as Hermione seized Draco’s arm and turned on the spot. The last thing she saw before they swirled away was Bellatrix, falling under the onslaught of arrows.   
  


* * *

Hermione and Draco landed with a thump atop a cliff towering over the sea. Far below, the waves thundered against the rocks.

Hermione sobbed for Bellatrix, her one true friend. Without her, she would still have been imprisoned and Draco would be dead.

“Her...mione…” Came a strangled croak.

Hermione looked down and screamed. “Draco! No! NO!”

The musket’s ball had struck Draco in the chest moments before he had been pulled away. The ruined cavity oozed blood, bone and tissue. Flecks of red foam bubbled at Draco’s mouth.

“You can’t leave me! Not after all we went through!” She wailed.

“Love you… ‘Mione.” Draco gasped.

“I love you, too,” she sobbed.

Looking frantically about, Hermione stared at the cliff’s edge. The rocks far below were sharp.

Dragging Draco’s body into her arms, she staggered under his dying weight toward the precipice.

“If we can’t be together in life, we will be together in death,” she whispered softly.

“Yes,” sighed Draco, his head lolling on her shoulder.

Pulling his face gently toward hers, Hermione sweetly kissed her only love gently on his soft lips.

Turning back to face the emptiness before her, Hermione took Draco firmly into her arms and stepped over the edge, so that they might leap to their fate as one.   
  
_   
**The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cowers* Yes, I know... I'm a cold-hearted writer, dropping this ending on you! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my take on The Maid of Braekel.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reads, recommends and leaves Kudos, and a big shout out to TheMourningMadam for hosting this fest!


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